


Spin For You

by the_chaotic_panda



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, I don't know what counts as a fandom, Pete Wentz - Fandom, patrick stump - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Letters, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Suicide Attempt, Weight Issues, it's not always this dark i promise, sometimes love letters but sometimes very much not love letters, there's other stuff too but i can't remember it, wow this sounds dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 59
Words: 230,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_chaotic_panda/pseuds/the_chaotic_panda
Summary: A collection of letters from Pete to Patrick over the years.[Originally posted on Wattpad. Requested on AO3 by the amazing carcrashheartswentz]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carcrashheartswentz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carcrashheartswentz/gifts).



1.

Dear Patrick,

I feel like such a jerk writing this. But what the hell, I'll give it a shot. I've tried every other method for getting over someone, so I guess this is a last resort.

The website said to just 'write whatever you'd like to tell the person'. But I want to tell you everything. Even the stupid stuff, like how I saw a bird fly off with a dude's burrito in the park yesterday. And of course there's stuff I've wanted to tell you since the day we met, but that's more like third or fourth letter material. Wow, my handwriting is shit. Even if I did give this to you you'd never be able to read it. But I'm not allowed to give this to you, the website said. I've got to just spill out all my deepest feelings, lock them up and forget about them. That way, I'll get _closure_ or whatever. I hate that word, it makes it sound like you've died or something.

I don't know how much I'm supposed to write in these things. Enough to get over you, I guess. If that's the case, then I'm going to need a lot more paper. Oh, listen to me, this is so stupid. The only way I'm going to get over you is by not thinking about you ever, not by writing a lame letter like some silly diary entry telling you all the things I wish I could say. Tomorrow, at rehearsal, I'm going to shut off all of these feelings and just play the fucking music, that's all. You're just some stupid kid I met like three months ago, I'm not in love with you, it's just a crush.

Anyway, this was a waste of time. What the hell am I doing, writing letters to nobody. Do I have to sign it from me too? This just reached a new level of fucking lame.

From Pete, I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Patrick,

I can't believe I'm actually writing one of these again. But the thing is, it's been five months now, and my crush is still going strong. Seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me. You're just a kid, with your stupid over-sized sweaters and your weird taste in hats. I shouldn't have got attached to you at all.

A few months ago, I didn't even know you existed. You were just some-guy-Joe-met-at-the-record store-who-might-have-a-shot-at-being-in-our-crappy-band. I remember being so mad at Joe when I found out that you just wanted to write songs and play drums.

"But we need a goddamned singer!" I'd said, and Joe had sighed and nodded.

"But I said we'd give him a chance." He admitted, shrugging.

To be honest, I'd basically ruled you out before we'd even arrived at your house that morning. We knocked reluctantly, wishing the meeting time hadn't been so early. I'd had a rough night, as always, and really wasn't in the mood to meet anyone, and Joe could tell that just by looking at me. He kept his distance. But then you opened the door, and I almost laughed. There you were, in those stupid socks with those ridiculous sideburns, grinning at us from ear to ear. You were even shorter than I was, and your chubby features made you look like a dressed-up marshmallow. I snapped out of my stroppy stupor, and shook your hand as you beckoned us inside.

Your bedroom was stuffed full of records. Even Joe was impressed. He looked at me with this small little smirk, as if he knew that this kid was going to change everything.

"So..sh-shall I play you some of my stuff?" You said cautiously, as if me and Joe were snipers trained on you. We nodded, and watched you as you scurried around the place, looking for guitars and picks. You made me smile even back then.

Then you started to play. I don't even remember what the song sounded like, I just remember what you looked like whilst playing it. You watched the guitar carefully, as if every note was an ingredient that had to be measured precisely. Then your eyes darted around the room, and you started to sing. And I swear to God I nearly keeled over.

I'm no expert on voices. When I said we needed a singer for the band, all I wanted was anyone who could hit a note. But when you started to sing, it was like, (watch out I'm about to get real mushy here), but it was like listening to honey being poured out of a jar, or trees blossoming in spring, or clouds moving across the sky. I smiled wider than I had done in a long time.

When you'd finished, you looked down at the floor for a moment, as if you didn't want to see our reactions. Joe turned to me and grinned proudly, as if to say _look what I found_.

"Well that was pretty fantastic." Joe said, and you looked up in disbelief. I almost laughed again at how stupidly adorable you were. "How would you like to sing in the band?"

"Sing? No, no, I only want to write stuff, I'm not a singer." You said, looking at the floor again. I scoffed loudly.

"Listen, Patrick is it? You can sing, like, super well, you have to be our singer. Please?" I said, trying to look as encouraging as possible. And _super well_ , that didn't even cover it. Fuck, come to think of it, maybe I did fall for you at pretty much first sight. I was so happy when you said yes. Joe was too, but I think he was more happy from the band's point of view. My happiness was almost entirely based around the fact that this meant I'd get to see you again.

Wow, that was longer than I thought it'd be. I actually expressed some feelings! Already this letter writing thing has been more successful than the therapists.

From Pete


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Patrick,

We did our first proper show last night. Even now, the next morning, I'm still buzzing. And I've gotta say, we were amazing. You were amazing.

I guess we were all nervous beforehand, but you showed it the most. You paced up and down the place endlessly, running your fingers through your hair and muttering to yourself, taking deep breaths and jumping out of your skin whenever anyone tried to talk to you. I kept my distance, because my urge to give you a hug was nearing critical, and I didn't want this to be the night that my crush revealed itself. Because that's all it is. A crush.

Anyway, we were all sitting backstage, doing some last minute warm-ups, when you finally stopped pacing. But then you just stood in the corner, knotting your fingers together, dead silent, and I remember thinking that maybe pacing was a better option. Of course, if it'd been anyone else, anyone at all, then I'd have just marched up to you and told you to pull yourself together you fucking pussy, we've got a goddamned show to play. But I saw you and my stomach did that weird flippy thing like it does when you think there's an extra step but there isn't. Nobody's made me feel that before. So I went over to you, setting mental limits for myself as I got closer. I decided that a hand on your shoulder was safe enough, didn't want to undo the months I'd spent building a wall between us. You looked up as I approached, flinching away from me. I hate that you seem to be afraid of me. But I stuck to my shoulder plan, and you looked up, muscles tensing at first, then slowly relaxing as I gave you a grin. You smiled back. Dammit you have a beautiful smile. I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I just gave you a friendly pat on the back and stayed there, standing awkwardly next to you. Fucking hell, I'm a creep.

I'm not supposed to feel like this about people. I'm the type of guy that picks the hottest girl at a party and gets a hell of a blow job in the bathroom before stumbling home in the early hours of the morning and never seeing her again. I'm a normal, straight guy who's only ever fallen in lust. But when you walked out on that stage and sang your heart out, I felt this swell of pride. I don't wanna seduce you, or push you up against a wall and fuck you; I'm content with just being around you, watching you pour your soul into the music.

After the show, we talked for ages in the van. Despite knowing you for like, what, six months now? We hadn't really talked much. During rehearsals, you mostly talked to Joe and Andy, probably because stamping out my crush on you took up nearly my entire head. I bet you thought I was such a pretentious ass. But anyway, we talked, and talked, about nothing in particular, but it didn't matter because the words just rolled off our tongues, as did the laughs. It was like being drunk, but without the bad decisions and lack of memory.

When it started to get real late, I dropped everyone back home, Andy first, then Joe, then you. I know I shouldn't have left you 'til last, and that me being alone with you would just put even more pressure on my self-control, but truth be told I just wanted to be around you as much as I could. Ergh, listen to me, I'm a walking cliche.

As you got out of the van, hauling guitars and amps with you, you turned to thank me for driving. But then suddenly your tone dropped, and you looked at me with that same fucking scared expression.

"D-do you think I did okay?" You said, tripping over your words in the cutest, no, what am I saying, stupidest way. I shrugged in an effort to seem like I didn't care, but the way your face fell when I did made my stomach squirm.

"You were fantastic." I said, with as much feeling as I dared. That made you smile. I realised I like to be the one who makes you smile. You gave me a quick wave as you shut the door, and I stepped on the gas before my gaze could linger on you.

 

It's just a crush, though.

From Pete


	4. Chapter 4

  Patrick,,

why dont you ever notice me                                                                                                                      you never really                                                                    or like me you always laugh when I tell jokes but                                  laugh you just pretend its all fuckign pretend                                                                                                                                                                                                                you never liked me we're just in a band we're not friends

             stop why do I like you like this I never do this love is for other people                                                                                                                                           what the fuck has happened stop telling me to not drink          you are nothing to me shut up pat shut up for once

your so in love with your fucking record you                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         should love me what are you doing its not fair

you drove me home and took me to my house but when I said I loved you

                                           you thOUGHT IT WAS A fucking JoKE

I tried to kiss you before you went but you shoved me away why                                                                                                                                                you always say about music the whole time stop talking about it

you should talk to me not to them                                                                         fuck you

you think i talk shit when im drunk but every                             word is true I was just too sober to say them

I want you patrick youre beautiful kiss me please just fucking kis s me                                                                                                                              why do you say im your best friend I dont want to be friends I never want ed freindship

THE MUSIC IS ImPOrtANT we fucking get it shut up shut up I

just want you                                                                   are the songs on the record about me trick are they am I the one would you piss to put me out no because ive burnt out already

                                                                             why do you not notice please notice

if I cant have you then whats the point you are it                                                                                               patric

fuck you because tomorrow ill drink more or                                                even take some pills then youd be sorry

you wouldnt even notice if I fucking died

nobody would

P                                                                                                                                                                                                                   e te


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Patrick,

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't believe what I did, and I know you can't either. Oh God, I've ruined everything.

I swear I didn't mean to. It was just... oh, who am I kidding, making excuses. It was my fault, all my fault.

I can't even use alcohol to explain it, I'd only had one glass of that cheap champagne Joe bought to celebrate the release of Take This To Your Grave. We'd gotten the first ever hard copy of the album, and suddenly, it'd all seemed so real, so tangible. I still can't really believe we made an _actual proper album._

We were at your house, passing round the CD case, handling it as if it was made of glass, studying the finished album art, staring in wonder at the disc which threw back our own reflections in technicolour. This was it, the thing we'd been working towards for months, and I was, and still am, convinced that it will change our lives. We sat around for ages, not talking much, just thinking, exchanging proud glances and satisfied sighs.

I watched you, being the creep that I am, as you'd marvelled at the thin plastic square in your hands, tracing your fingers along every edge, your eyes lit up like sparklers; it was as if you were looking at a newborn baby.

I guess I just couldn't resist you that night.

I'd stuck around until after Andy and Joe had left. I shouldn't have, I knew that letting myself linger was a mistake. But I guess that's what makes you different from anyone else; when I'm with you I always linger, laugh a little harder, smile a little brighter, stare a little longer.

We sat on the couch, probably too close to each other, thinking back. It was so quiet, I could hear your soft breaths as you stared at nothing in particular, eyes busy with thoughts. There are no awkward silences between best friends, only comfortable silences. It occurred to me then that you were the only person who's company I'd take over being alone.

I don't know why I said what I said next. It just sorta felt like the right thing to say.

"Patrick...do you...do you think that... this is going to lead anywhere?"

You looked at me, and I could tell already that you'd mistaken my meaning.

"Of course it is Pete, we've made a whole album, this is our big break!" You'd said, and your eyes shone so bright I swear I saw heaven in them.

"No, Patrick, I don't mean the record, I mean... well, us, I guess." Shit. Why the fuck did I think that that was the right thing to say? I'd never had any indication at all that you were remotely attracted to me, or even that you weren't straight. We're just friends, or at least we used to be friends. Before I screwed everything up.

You stared at me, obviously confused, searching my face urgently for anything that could help you reply to my stupid, thoughtless words.

"I...erm...Pete, do you mean...us as a band? Or.. _us_ us?" Your voice sank to a whisper as you spoke, and I felt myself leaning closer to you, and it was the first time I noticed how beautiful your eyes are, shifting between whispering sun-soaked forests and laughing waves tickling golden sands. You already feel like home to me.

I was so close to you, I could feel your warm breath on my face, tinted with the sweet smell of champagne. Then I kissed you.

And for one, perfect, glorious moment, everything seemed brighter. I pressed my lips gently to yours, sucking ever so slightly, absorbing you into my bloodstream, drinking in every drop of your taste. And then it was over.

I felt your hands on me, but it was all wrong, you weren't pulling me closer, you were shoving me away, wriggling frantically to get off the sofa and out of my heart. I was so confused, so utterly naïve that I was surprised when you stood and turned to me, panic seeping through you. Your mouth hung slightly open, and you looked at me in horror.

I just looked right back at you like an idiot, trying to get my love-drunk brain around what had just happened. Oh fuck, I just kissed Patrick.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I stood up too, hoping to show you that I was as surprised as you were, and it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But the way you backed away from me as I did, the hint of something worse in your eyes than shock, _disgust_ , it tore me in half.

"I..um...I'm sorry I just-"

"Please could you leave?"

God, even thinking about you uttering those words hurts. I nodded hastily, and practically ran to the door, tears in my eyes, and a collapsing sensation in my chest. You didn't see me out.

And now I'm here, at home, alternating between crying and drinking, trying to write yet another goddamned letter. Hung up over some kid who didn't kiss me back. Way to go, Pete.

I'll have to face you at some point. That is, if you ever want to see my face again. What if the band breaks up all because of my stupid crush? Will you tell anyone? What if you tell Joe and Andy, and they start being disgusted by the sight of me too? Why have you had this affect on me, why do I feel so broken, why did I lose control for ten tiny seconds and send my whole world crashing down, why have you become my world?

Maybe I'll find the answers at the bottom of a bottle.

From Pete


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Patrick,

Well I guess that's it then.

To be honest, I was surprised that I had any lower to sink. Last night, after I kissed you, I drank more than I probably have ever. Eventually I must have passed out, waking up what seemed like years later on a bed of broken bottles and a headache that made me want to tear my own eyes out.

The headache might have faded by now, but the regret certainly hasn't. What the hell was I thinking, what did I possibly think I could achieve by kissing you? Get you to like me back? Yeah, right, good one Pete. No one will ever like you back, least of all kind, intelligent, adorable Patrick.

But I guess even then, after the vodka-soaked night, I had a tiny bit of hope. Something that the alcohol hadn't quite drowned out, that maybe, just maybe, you'd think about that kiss, about me, and you might see a tiny bit of potential.

That little spark was put out by your phone call.

I'd managed to pull myself out of my coma and drag my deadened body to the bathroom, standing in the dark because I knew that turning the light on would sauté what was left of my mind. In the mirror there was another guy. He had sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and his skin had this grey tinge that made him look like a character from a Tim Burton film. He stared back at me blankly. I hated him. I hate me.

I was hauled out of my black hole of a brain by the shrill ringing of my phone. Realising I'd slept in my clothes, I pulled it out of my pocket and stared at the name.

_Patrick._

For a few seconds, I just stood there like an idiot, staring at your name as if it was the A grade on a paper I was sure I'd fail. I tapped the screen, thinking of a hundred different ways this phone call could go in the seconds before I spoke.

"Uh...Hey. It's me." I said pathetically.

"Hey Pete. I...um...are you okay?" You asked. Trust you to care about the last person who deserves to be cared about.

"Yeah, I've...I've been better, but yeah." Then the words came flooding out.

"Listen, you don't have to be nice to me. I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened, I wasn't thinking, for some twisted reason it felt like the right thing to do. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be, so if you don't want me in the band any more then just say the word and you'll never have to see me again. I never meant to hurt you, I promise, I was just stupid and thoughtless and I'm so sorry, Patrick."

I breathed in, letting my frantic words sink through the phone lines, each second feeling like a whole hour.

Then you laughed.

I hadn't been prepared for that. Were you laughing at my stupidity? I wouldn't have blamed you, I would have laughed at me too if I'd have been on the receiving end of that messed up apology.

Giggles trickled into my ear like wind chimes, and I subconsciously added your laugh to my list of things to live for, even if you were laughing at me.

"Pete, dude, it was _one kiss_! We were all a bit out of it 'cause of the album and the champagne, I was so happy, I could've kissed someone too!  I'm not angry at all, and you're not stupid or thoughtless. Don't talk about yourself like that, I don't like it. I overreacted last night, telling you to leave and all that, I guess you just kinda took me by surprise or whatever. But seriously, don't worry, you're my best friend, and I'd never dream of kicking you out of the band, you idiot. I just called to make sure we're cool." You said lightly, remnants of laughter lifting up your voice as you spoke.

And I was so relieved that I started laughing too. You were right, look at me, getting all worked up over one stupid kiss. It's not like I'm in love with you, it was a kiss, an impulse, nothing to lose sleep over. New album, new era, that's why I did what I did. The weight of last night's tears seemed to lift, and I left the dark bathroom and opened the bedroom curtains, not caring that the light hurt my head. It made me feel a bit more human.

"Okay, great, we're cool, that's great. I thought you might flip out or something." I said, feeling better by the second.

"No, of course not, it's not like it meant anything. So I'll see you in a few days for tour planning, yeah?"

_It's not like it meant anything._

And with those words, you knocked out any hope that was left in me. My relief festered and rotted into crushing disappointment.

"Yeah!" I said with too much enthusiasm, and hung up right that second.

You were never meant to do this to me. Crushes aren't supposed to actually crush you. The worst part was that even when you hurt me, I just liked you more. Fuck, I really am a prize asshole. How the hell am I gonna cope on this goddamned tour?

After the phone call, I took two aspirin, resisting the urge to down the whole lot, shut the curtains and crawled back into bed. I realise now that headaches are bad but heartaches are worse.

I woke up a few hours later. Now I'm writing this letter, which is improving my mood by exactly 0%. Time to drink myself into oblivion again, I think.

 _It's not like it meant anything._ Oh, but Patrick, to me it meant everything.

From Pete


	7. Chapter 7

Dear Patrick,

I don't want it to end. The last few weeks, they've been...well fucking amazing really. Touring is such an assault on the senses, all the new sights and sounds and friends and cities, that I think I managed to forget who I was for a while.

On stage, I'm Pete Wentz, the rock star, the idol. People cheer for me and scream my name, the lights blind my demons.

I'm a different person out there. I wish the change was permanent.

But now it's over. We're in the van, our temporary home, driving towards our real homes. I don't want to go back.

Back home, the real Pete returns. The Pete that got kicked out by his own damn parents, that lives off cold pizza and nachos, that's depressed and paranoid and desperate. That's falling for his own best friend.

I've tried to stop these feelings, I really fucking have. I try to point out to myself all the flaws that you have. You can be an insufferable perfectionist. You have this way of shutting everyone up, especially when we're in the studio. Oh, but then you can let people walk all over you sometimes and I can see it on your face that you don't like it but you never freaking _do_ anything about it.

And yet, your flaws just make me love you more.

Oh, fuck.

Did I just use the 'L' word?

No, no, I meant they make me _like_ you more. That's the 'L' word I should have said, an 'L' word with a lot less repercussions. I definitely don't love you, that would be fucked up. It's still a crush. Isn't it?

We've been in this van for around five hours now. It'll be my turn to drive soon. Andy's driving, with Joe asleep in the front seat. Me and you are in the back. You're asleep too.

I swear to God I have never known anyone who sleeps like you do. When you're stressed out, you don't even think about resting, you just stay awake, running on nothing but caffeine. Then, eventually, the lack of sleep begins to show, and you can barely get through a single sentence without yawning over the top of it.

Then, when you do sleep, you might as well be dead. I could pop a balloon right next to your face and you wouldn't wake up, and trust me, me and Joe have tested that theory.

And the _positions._ You sleep with your limbs thrown all over the damn place, it's crazy. Last week, I found you asleep on one of the armchairs backstage, with your legs draped over the back of the chair and the rest of you just sort of crumpled into the seat, upside down. I mean what are you, a bat?

Right now though, you're curled up on the seat next to me, the top of your head resting against my leg. I'm trying to resist the urge to stroke your hair.

I've had to resist quite a lot of urges in the last few weeks, 'cause touring means that we've all been in pretty close proximity to each other. Which is difficult enough when you _don't_ fancy your best friend.

Fuck, I'm a creep.

I have to do something about this stupid crush. I've been thinking about this for a while and...well...what if I asked you out? Just to see? Just in case there's a tiny little part of you that thinks, _maybe I could like him._

I know I fucked up before, kissing you and whatever. And you rejected me. That look on your face is forever burned into my memory. But if I asked this time, if I did the gentlemanly thing and shyly asked if you'd like to go on a date, not just pizza but a proper fancy restaurant, would you say yes?

I guess there's only one way to find out.

The tour, the music, the drowning out of everything that was hurting me, it's helped me think a bit clearer. Spending these weeks with you has just made me realise that I want to spend all my weeks with you. So maybe I don't need to go back to that old Pete. I could start a new Pete, a Pete with his very own Patrick. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

Slowly but surely, I think I'm getting better. I hardly drink at all now. And I've also been able to keep all my stupid anxiety under control, this new medicine thing I was prescribed saw to that. Ativan, I think it's called.

The world is so beautiful tonight. We're away from the city, so we finally get to see the stars. Everything is bathed in silver. And yet, instead of staring out the window at the wonders of nature, I'm staring at you. It's cheesy, but you're never gonna see this so what the hell, I'll write it anyway. You're far brighter than any of those stars up there.

I can hear all the sounds of home woven with your soft breaths.

Anyway, I better wrap up, give Andy a break from driving. It's not like I'm gonna to get any sleep. No doubt I'll probably spend the rest of the night working out exactly how to ask you on a date.

I'm already nervous.

From Pete


	8. Chapter 8

To Patrick oh-look-at-me-I'm-so-perfect Stump,

You can just go fuck yourself.

Why the fuck didn't you tell me? I thought we were _best friends_ or whatever. Obviously not.

I was so ready to ask you. I'd practised it so many times, to get the perfect wording, the perfect intonation, just light enough not to scare you off, but with the right amount of sincerity so you'd know I wasn't fucking around.

Turns out you were already fucking around.

We'd decided to have an end-of-tour celebration at the high-end Michelin-starred eatery that is Taco Bell. I had it all planned out: After the meal, we'd walk out of the restaurant, and I'd pull you back a little bit, with a light tap on the shoulder. Then I'd look down at the ground, then back up at you, and ask, whilst knotting my fingers together, if you'd like to do this again sometime, with just the two of us. Then, ideally, you'd have given me that small shy smile you do when you're really happy about something but you don't want to show it too much, and said, _I was hoping you'd ask that,_ or something along those lines. Then I'd have smiled more than I've ever smiled before, and gone home and not felt empty or alone or depressed like I always do.

But that's not what happened.

The great gods of fate threw up all over me instead.

I turned up at the place, late as always. You lot were already in there. I hurried through the doors and towards your table, but there was something wrong. There were already four people sitting around it.

"Hey Pete, there you are!" You'd called cheerfully, beckoning me over.

Then I saw _her._

She watched me as I approached, smiling at me.

"Hi, I'm Emma, Patrick's girlfriend."

And with that one sentence, my whole world imploded. I stared at her blankly, my mind trying to frantically piece itself back together, and she looked back, expectantly.

"I'm..uh...Pete. Nice to meet you." I didn't look at her as I sat down, sliding into the booth, opposite the two of you.

She's pretty. Repulsively pretty. The kind of pretty I can never ever live up to. She's got curly brown hair, with fucking gorgeous brown eyes. Oh, and a dress that makes her look like a walking boob factory. God, I hate her.

Dinner was hell on earth. Andy and Joe retreated into their music-tech talk before we even ordered. So I had to sit there, watching you two, watching how she laughed too hard at your stupid jokes, how you blushed every time she did. You had no idea what you were doing, I could tell that from the way you picked at the callouses on your fingers and tapped your foot against the table leg the whole fucking evening. You were so goddamn nervous. You kept looking over at me as if to ask _am I doing okay?_ Fuck off, there's no way I'm helping you out.

I sat there in a sulk, wishing for the evening to be over as quickly as possible. I wanted to get home and get some real alcohol in me, not whatever the fuck you'd ordered for me. To hell with wine, I needed whiskey.

She'd obviously had more than her fill of drinks. As she got even more relaxed, she started to touch you, running her fingers across your shoulders and through your hair, burying her face in the crook of your neck. You laced your fingers with hers, your eyes lighting up when she laughed, your face splitting into that goddamned beautiful smile. I wish I could be the one to make you smile like that.

But there was something in her eyes that said she wanted more than a smile. Her eyes swept over you the way a chef's might sweep over an animal just before they butcher it. She pressed herself into you, her lips just inches away from yours, no longer paying much attention to what you said or did. She knew exactly what she wanted, and so did I. You didn't.

Finally, after what seemed like several days, we left. I was amazed how in one evening I could go from being so happy and excited to feeling more depressed than ever. But it was you. Of course you'd be the one to do this to me. But you're fucking straight. Of course.

And, to top the whole evening off, I found out that not only did you have a girlfriend, but that she was your girlfriend of over a month. That's right, I heard her little happy anniversary speech to you when we left. You've been keeping secrets from me. You tried to act like it was your first date or something. Who the fuck do you think you are? I'm your best friend. Or at least I was. Before _she_ came along.

The night air was cool on my face after the stuffy restaurant. I was trying to process it all; you have a girlfriend. That means you're straight. You're not attracted to me in the slightest and you never will be. My chances of ever even going on a date with you just sunk to zero. I felt this feeling in my chest as if someone had stuck a knife into it and started to slowly twist.

And the _envy._ I've never felt anything like it. Every time she touched you, even if it was just brushing your arm lightly, my stomach tightened. I longed for her fingers to be mine, I want you all to myself, want you to be _my_ Patrick.

I was halfway across the parking lot, thinking about the coma-inducing cocktail I was planning to make when I got home in the hope of forgetting this whole evening, when I heard you two behind me.

She'd got you pressed up against the back wall of the restaurant, the dim orange glow of the street light forcing me to watch as she crushed her lips into yours, pulling at your hair, running a hand down your chest. Your desperate breaths gave way to stifled moans as you exchanged clumsy, open-mouthed kisses. I felt the knife in my chest force its way through my already mangled mess of a heart.

I stopped looking when she started sucking at your neck.

I hate you. You made me like this. I was fine before you.

You're a coward and a liar and you think you're so great with your girlfriend and your late-night-back-of-taco-bell-makeout-sessions-which-make-me-want-to-puke, but really you're just a stupid scared kid who has no idea what little miss fake eyelashes and even faker boobs wants from you. You think she likes you because you're funny, or cute, or charming? Ha, in your dreams. Girls like her don't go for guys like you. She wants you because she knows you're inexperienced and gullible as hell. I can see it in the way she looks at you. She'll use you, she'll break you, and you'll end up crying into a bottle every night. You'll end up like me.

Stay the fuck away from me.

From Pete


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicide.

Patrick.

It all happened so quickly.

We met up today, for the first time after the restaurant. We just wanted to get back to playing together, and maybe come up with a few new song ideas.

You three all turned up at the same time, at my house, because it's easiest, with no parents to hassle us. My parents kicked me out long ago.

It was great to play with all you guys again, it made me remember what it was like at the beginning, when we had no idea what we were doing and were just desperate to make noise. It was so natural, and you were so relaxed. _I_ was so relaxed. It was perfect.

I had had a week or so to blot the image of you and Emma out of my mind, with the help of my good friend vodka, so I was entirely determined to only see you as a friend. I'd had quite a bit to drink before you'd even arrived. I convinced myself that just to be acquainted with you was a bonus, that I didn't need anything more. Now that I knew you were taken, it would be easier to get over you. Just a crush, just a crush.

About an hour into our little jamming session, after playing through some of our old stuff, you'd suggested that we try out something new. You said it like you meant _let's compose something together_ , but I looked at Joe and Andy we exchanged an eye-roll, knowing that what you really meant was _I've written this thing that I think we should try and play but only exactly how I want us to play it._

Your perfectionism has always been a source of our amusement. Only tonight you took it a little bit too far.

"No, no Pete, that note should be shorter, you're letting it ring for too long!" You said, motioning towards the bass in my hands.

"Are you sure? I kinda like it long, it sounds more reflective and melodic." I'd questioned.

You gave a small huff, and sighed "No, it needs to be short so that the next verse can come in at the right time!"

"Well then maybe it's the verse that's wrong, we should keep the long note and change the verse instead." I kept my voice steady as I spoke.

"Change the verse? Are you insane? The verse is fine, it's not worth fucking around with just for one note!" Your voice rose a little.

"But the verse doesn't quite fit with the chorus anyway, why don't we just play around with some other variations, you never know, it might sound better." Joe chimed in.

That really annoyed you.

"It will not _sound better_ , I've tried countless variations of the verses, this is the only one that works!" Your eyes shot between me and Joe, as if we were about to mug you.

Andy decided to intervene.

"Hey, Patrick, calm down, we can try it both ways and see. Nothing has to be decided now, this is just supposed to be a bit of fun." He said, calm and collected as always.

You jumped when he spoke, like a deer does when it hears a loud noise. Letting out a long sigh, you nodded, snarling a ' _fine'_ at us before flopping down on my couch and running a hand across your face.

We all watched you for a few moments, until finally, I sighed too, putting my bass down. "Okay, why don't we all just have a break, make some coffee or something?"

The others nodded profusely, and Andy immediately jumped up from his drums and volunteered to make it, no doubt in order to escape the suffocating atmosphere in the lounge. Wow, we went from jamming session high to mid-life crisis low in under five minutes, that's got to be a new record, even for me.

I decided to distract myself by pulling out a box of cigarettes and lighting one up, pulling in a slow, satisfying breath. I felt my muscles relaxing already as the smoke filled me up, before I breathed it out again, creating a neat little puff of grey wisps in the air around me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I jumped at your suddenly loud voice, turning towards you. You were standing up now, a few feet from me. Confusion crossed my face, and anger crossed yours.

"Put that thing out. Right. Now." You weren't shouting anymore. This was worse than shouting. Your words cut through the smoke, through me, sharp and heavy. I glanced down at the glowing cigarette in my hand. I liked the taste of it, I wanted another drag. I slowly put it back to my lips, looking straight at you as I sucked in a hot breath.

You took a step forward. Joe took a step back. I stayed exactly where I was.

"I said, put it out."

I stuck my chin out, leant forward a little, and blew smoke into your face.

You swatted it away, flexing your jaw and locking your eyes onto mine. I could see the burning hatred writhing behind them.

"It's my house, I can smoke if I want to." I said simply, shrugging. I took another drag.

You sprang forward, snatching the cigarette from me, crushing it into the carpet with your foot. It was as if you wished it was me you were crushing.

"From now on, you are _never_ going to smoke, _ever!"_ You nearly shrieked at me, your voice leaping up the octaves.

"Why the hell not? You don't control me! I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do!" I was shouting now, the barricade I had built to hold my rage slowly splitting apart.

"You will _die_ if you keep on like that! _We_ will die if you keep on like that! Has it occurred to you that some of us would quite like lungs that aren't soaked in tar?!"

"Oh, I get it, it's all about poor little Patrick. Did the nasty man scare you with his horrid cigarette?" I cooed, watching as your hands curled into fists. It's easier like this. Easier to hate you than to love you. It's a pity I didn't realise that they're the same thing.

"Don't you dare talk down to me." You shot back. I laughed.

"Well you're so short, it's hard not to. Oh, but I'm sorry, I forgot you're _perfect_ Patrick with the _perfect_ life and _perfect_ girlfriend, I do apologise, _your majesty_." I did a small bow just to piss you off even more, topping it off with a malicious grin.

"What the fuck does Emma have to do with this?!"

"Oh, nothing, apart from the fact that she's a stupid whore." I spat.

Your eyes widened. "What did you just say?" It was nothing more than a whisper.

I took a step towards you.

"Okay, okay, I take it back. She's not stupid. Not as stupid as you are, anyway." I could feel the alcohol fuelling my words, making them burn as they crossed my lips.

"What?" You said again.

"You think she likes you. You think she's going out with you because she wants to spend time with you. You're so naive it's hilarious. She doesn't want that at all. Let me ask, how much money have you spent on her in the past month? She knows exactly what she's doing. With girls like her, you're either rich, famous or great in bed, and we all know you aren't two of those things."

I was close to you now, staring down at you, my face inches from yours.

"Pete, stop, I think you should-" Joe interrupted, but I talked over him.

"You mean nothing to her, Patrick. Sooner or later she'll figure out that you're not a rock star, you're just a kid. Sure, she's shoving her tongue down your throat now, but there'll be someone else. Someone smarter, funnier, better looking. There always is. And you'll see how worthless you really are."

You blinked. I didn't notice the tears spilling down your face, just the anger blazing within me, the love-drunk hatred waiting for a final chance to pounce. My fists shook at my sides, crushing the cigarette packet. You looked down at the crumpled cardboard in my hand, watched the cigarettes as they tumbled out of it. You spoke slowly and quietly, yet each word was as loud as a gunshot.

"I hope those things do kill you."

That was it. I snapped. Everything happened in slow motion after that. I brought my fist up and slammed it into your jaw, making your knees buckle and collapse. My other hand let go of the cigarettes and collided with your brow bone, and once you were on the floor I pinned down your wrists with my knees, punching you over and over, and suddenly I was getting my revenge for every stupid word you said to me, every night I'd spent crying over you, every piece you'd ripped my heart into. I hated what I was doing, but I hated you more. My hands finally settled around your neck, my thumbs pressing into your throat, making your desperate cries go silent. You gulped shallow, useless breaths, your kicks becoming steadily weaker. I stared into your terrified eyes, watching as every second saw them lose a little of their life. Finally, they rolled backwards, your eyelids fluttering shut. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Suddenly there were hands around my neck. More hands shoved at me, pulling me off you, forcing me to let go. I felt my arms ache as if the hands had been pulling at them too. Maybe they had, I just didn't notice. I was on the floor now, being dragged across the room. I breathed heavily, and slowly, everything fizzled back into focus.

Andy and Joe had been shouting like crazy, trying to pull me off you. Their outraged bellows still hung in the air, as thick as tar. They were gathered round you, but I could feel Joe's eyes on me. He'd seen everything, heard every hateful word I'd said. And now he hated me.

I propped myself up on my elbows, the room still spinning. I scrunched my eyes up and shook my head to try and clear my mind, to make sense of what had just happened.

I'd killed you.

You were still lying on the carpet, arms spread limply around you and mouth still slightly open. A few solitary tears clung to your eyelashes, the rest tracing silvery paths down your cheeks. There was a thin ribbon of blood spilling from your lips. The silence was enough to burst my eardrums.

Joe stood up, fists clenched and jaw tensed, his stare hurting more than any punch. He lurched towards me, and I shut my eyes, knowing I was next.

But then he stopped. There was a faint gurgling noise coming from where you were laying. It got louder, beating through the air like a pulse.

Suddenly your back arched and you coughed violently, a harsh choke which took a baseball bat to the silence, your eyes flying open in wild panic. Andy grabbed your thrashing arm and steadied you as you dragged in rattling breaths, Joe rushing to your other side. You struggled to prop yourself up against the couch, resting your head back and drinking in the air gratefully. Raising a shaking hand to your throat, you touched the slowly reddening skin, flinching as you did so. You looked over at me.

I was flooded with relief, sighing and closing my eyes. You weren't dead, I hadn't killed you. But then I saw what I _had_ done.

There were cuts all over your face, oozing dark liquid and casting purplish shadows. Blood trickled from your nose and mouth, and ran from your eyebrow to your jaw. There were no bruises yet, but I could see them forming in my head, from _my_ hands, _my_ punches. My rage, my stupidity. Tomorrow you'll have a necklace of bruises in the shape of my fingers.

I looked down at my hands; they were covered in your blood.

I did this.

You closed your eyes again, still gasping for air, and I sat up, feeling the horror of my actions spreading through me like poison.

Joe and Andy's disgusted stares met my own bewildered one. Slowly, carefully, they started to gather up your limp limbs and help you to stand; all the while keeping one eye on me in case I tried to kill anyone else.

I opened my mouth to speak.

"I-"

"Don't." Joe shot back at me.

And with that, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the lounge, Andy at your other side. A few moments later, I heard the front door slam.

You were gone.

I lay on the floor for a very long while.

And that's when I decided it was time to go.

Eventually, I got up, and decided to write this one, last letter.

So here I am. A depressed, sleep deprived alcoholic who just saw the only person who was worth getting up for walk out of his life forever.

Because I know you'll never come back. Not after this. I fucked you up just like I fucked up every other person I ever got close to. Even my own parents.

You're gone now, and with you goes all my smiles, all my laughs, all my reasons to stay in this world. I've been suicidal on and off for a while now, but you gave me something to hope for. Now that's gone, I'm not sure what's left.

I had been doing so much better. But when the tour ended, I felt like I was standing on the very edge of a cliff; with every pull of the tide, the rock was slowly eaten away, unnoticeable, until I felt the ground underneath me give a little. You were the whisper that started the landslide.

I can't do this any more, can't stay here, rotting, can't make anything better because I only end up hurting people. I can't get the image of your face out of my mind, lifeless and tear-stained, bloodied and broken. Because of me, you feel on the outside what I feel on the inside.

The debate has been going back and forth in my mind for years now, but up 'til now I always managed to choose to live. I'd try and put it off for one more minute. Then one more hour, then a day, then two. That's how I got through it. Thinking, hoping, wishing that better things were around the corner.

But today just proves that I'm not supposed to live. Because better things aren't around the corner. If I left it 'til tomorrow, I'll only see the outcome of my actions. And I never, ever wanted to live long enough to see you hate me.

The pills are by the side of me. When I'd thought about doing it, it had always been alcohol that I'd envisaged. But the irony of using the pills that got me to sleep at night to send me to sleep forever seemed too fucking perfect.

Tomorrow, or the next day maybe, someone will find me. I'll still be sprawled here on the floor, my face buried in the same carpet that's spotted with your blood.

So I guess that makes this letter a suicide note.

But even so, it's still for you, so I may as well pour what's left of my feelings into this. Here goes nothing.

 If you're reading this, Patrick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I put you through, all the times I could have been better, all the hatred I poured onto you to kid myself out of my own fucked up feelings. I'm sorry it had to end like this.

But know this, if it's the only thing you take from the festering corpse of our friendship, you are beautiful, in every way. Keep writing your beautiful music, keep singing, don't ever stop. If there's one thing I regret about this it's that I'll never get to hear your voice again, even if it's only through a recording. Or see you smile, even if it's not because of me.

I've taken the pills. They've left a bitter taste on my tongue.

I'm so sorry Patrick. Thank you so much for everything. You made the last few years worth it, even though I fucked it up. And, if I'm truly honest, because there's no goddamn point hiding anything now, I think, even though I denied it for so long, I am completely and utterly, head over heels in l


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Patrick,

Didn't think I'd be writing another of these. I shouldn't be writing another of these. I should be dead. But I'm not. And I don't quite know how I feel about that yet.

I hate hospitals. Everything is too...clear. It's all white walls and crisp sheets and fluorescent lights. I get headaches every time I open my eyes. I'm propped up in the bed, if you can call it that, trying to write as small as I can to fit all of this on the scrap of paper the nurse had given me when I asked. I don't think she likes me. I don't blame her.

Despite all the questions, I really don't remember much about that night. All I know is that I attacked you, then took a shit load of pills. My knuckles serve as brutal reminders; split and scabbed, when I close my eyes I can feel them slamming into your jaw all over again. When I sleep, I feel my hands around your neck, hear your strangled yelps, see your glassy eyes. It's all so clear, right up until the moment I was shoved off you. That's when things start to get blurry.

I remember the feelings though. They're worst part. There's this emptiness. It doesn't do anything much, just sits there in the pit of your stomach. And you don't even notice it getting stronger, until you find yourself with pills in your mouth and blackness in your brain, and suddenly it eats you up alive. Or dead. For seven minutes in my case.

It was Joe that found me. He told me he'd come back to get your guitars. He knocked, but obviously there was no answer. But he knew where the spare key was, so he let himself in anyway, heading for the lounge. And there I was, fading on the floor, having taken the pills less than two minutes previously. He called the ambulance. He saved my life. But again, I don't know how I feel about that yet.

I woke up several days later after the doctors had messed around with me, and at first, I couldn't see anything. I could just hear all these blurry sounds buzzing in my head, ebbing in and out like the tides, and for a while, I seemed to just float below the surface, hearing the sounds briefly before being pulled under again.

But the sounds got clearer, until finally I resurfaced. I don't really remember what it was like to wake up after all that time, to realise that I was still alive. Broken and beaten, but alive all the same.

I think it was Andy who saw me first. I heard him say my name in a hushed voice, before calling something out. Then there were more people, people barking orders at each other, buzzing around me and saying things. I became aware of needles in my hands and machines whirring.

Opening my eyes was like finally hitting the ground after free fall.

First there were only shapes. They moved around, one of them getting bigger and bigger. I blinked to try and make it stop, but the shape only became sharper. I could see a light blob in the middle of a bigger, darker blob. Scrunching my face up and squeezing my eyes shut, I shifted my body away from the shape, feeling my bones crack from being still for so long. When I opened my eyes, I could see everything.

There were bands of white light strung across the grey panelled ceiling. There were figures in my peripheral vision, and I tried to sit up and look at them properly but ended up just falling back into the pillow. They came closer, and I realised they were Joe and Andy. I also realised that I was happy to see them. Joe must have been the blob I'd seen at first, and his face split into a smile when I looked at him. His lips formed words that I can't remember but one of them was definitely _asshole._

I felt myself smile too, a surreal warmth spreading through me. Andy was sat on the other side of me, a little glint of something like pride in his eyes. He reached out and squeezed my arm, as if trying to pull me fully into the waking world.

Then I managed to sit up, helped by a doctor or a nurse or someone. They flitted around me, occasionally scribbling things down.

"I'm not dead," was the first thing I remember croaking.

When the others laughed, I didn't see the concern in their eyes. I didn't hear the worry in their voices when they asked me how I was. I couldn't see the hesitation in their smiles. Because in those first, glorious waking moments, I didn't remember myself. I had no idea what had happened that night, to you or to me, no idea what damage I had done, no idea that I was a depressed, suicidal alcoholic who nearly left his best friend dead on the floor. In those moments I was happy to be surrounded by friends. I didn't even consider that those friends might not be happy themselves.

They asked me what had happened, whether I was alright, and I replied with a cheerful "I just woke up, and I'm on top of the goddamn world!"

I didn't realise that I'd mistaken their meaning.

I don't remember that much about the first conversations, the talks with the doctors, the questions. But I can pinpoint exactly when everything came crashing back to me.

Maybe half an hour after I'd fully woken up, I wondered why Joe and Andy were even here. Did they wait around for me to wake up? Why them, why not my family or some of my other friends? Because at that point I'd forgotten that my family hates me and I don't have any other friends.

"Hey, what're you guys actually doing here? Did you stay here 'til I woke up?"

They exchanged a glance, and Andy said, a little guiltily, "No. After Joe found you and came here with you in the ambulance, he called us lot and told us the deal. We came and hung around for a bit, waiting for news, for anything, to tell us that you'd be okay. Eventually the doctor told us to go home, because they couldn't give us anything yet. Then, when they called us to say you were gonna pull through, we rushed here again, but you were out cold. And even you're boring as shit when you're unconscious, so we left after a bit."

"So why were you here when I woke up?"

"Well, it was sort of a coincidence really. We met up a couple hours ago, but didn't know what to do with ourselves so Joe suggested we come visit you. We were just about to leave when you started to make weird noises and wake up."

"Oh." I said simply. "What about Patrick?" I hadn't really meant to say it, it had just rolled off my tongue like water.

 _Patrick._ The name sent ripples through me. Why did I feel like I'd been punched in the stomach? There was an empty chair beside Joe, and I couldn't help thinking there should be someone else here.

They both looked at one another, with concern in their eyes. After a few seconds of silent conversation, Andy sighed.

"We haven't seen him since the night you were brought here. He waited with us while the doctors were first dealing with you, then when they said they didn't know yet, he pretty much ran out the building. I tried calling him, but he didn't pick up. I texted him that you woke up though."

"Oh," I repeated.

Joe lowered his gaze. His eyes flicked over to me, then at his phone, then at the empty doorway.

He leant over to Andy, voice dropping to a whisper. "What if he really doesn't want to see him? I wouldn't be surprised after...what happened."

"I don't know. But when Pete's better, we have some very serious conversations to have."

They exchanged more nervous glances.

Despite being really woozy still, I knew that I wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation. But I just kept thinking about what the hell they meant by _what happened._ What the fuck had happened to make you not want to see me?

Little did I know that I only had a few minutes of blissful ignorance left.

Soon after, a figure appeared in the doorway. Andy and Joe both looked up, and so did I. Then my world broke apart.

I relived the night in a split second that passed like a century. I saw the bloodstains, heard the sobs, felt the realisation of the monstrosity I'd become. Every word I'd said, every punch I'd thrown was written across your face in bruises. Your hat was pulled low and your collar high, but I could still see the shadows across your cheeks, the partially healed cuts.

You looked straight at me. Your glare was stony, your jaw clenched so tight I couldn't imagine it moving ever again. All the reasons I'd wanted to die were rocks pelting at me.

The suspense was unbearable.

You shuffled through the doorway, hands thrust into your pockets, shoulders hunched. Then you ran at me.

I closed my eyes and waited for you to get your revenge.

I felt arms around my neck. But wait, they weren't choking me. They were pulling me towards you, and suddenly I was caught in the tightest embrace known to mankind, the Stump-hug. I snaked my arms around you, and I couldn't believe it was you that I was holding. I felt the warmth of you that I thought I'd never feel.

You buried your face in my shoulder, and after a few moments, I heard small sobs escape your lips. That only made me squeeze you tighter, and you squeezed back. I took a chance and nestled my face in your neck, but you didn't pull away. I saw Joe's eyes narrow in the corner of my vision. I drank in your sweet scent, feeling your feathery hair brush my cheek. If you hadn't been holding me so urgently, if I hadn't felt all my warmth and purpose rush back to me so powerfully, I might have thought I was dreaming.

"You fucking idiot, how could you?" You choked through tears. "I thought I'd lost you, Pete, I thought I...I..." the sobs overcame you, your body shaking in my arms.

"I'm sorry." I whispered back, biting my lip to keep from blubbing too.

"N-never do that again, promise me, never ever do anything like this again, please Pete, please." You kept your arms securely around me, as if worried I might disappear at any moment. Maybe you would care if I disappeared.

I smiled into your shoulder, wanting this moment to last forever. Then I wouldn't have to go home, go back to the old Pete, remind myself why I'd wanted to die. Because at that point, I would have lived just for you.

"I promise," I whispered. It was a lie, I know that now, but right then, crying in your arms, it was the truest thing I'd ever said.

"I'm so sorry Pete." You whispered, your words warped by tears. I opened my eyes, loosening my hold slightly. You sensed the change and pulled away, and I immediately felt your warmth leave with you.

"What do you mean? Why the hell are you sorry?" I said, a little indignantly. You couldn't possibly be blaming yourself for this.

You looked at the ground for a few moments, then back up at me. I felt my stomach drop when I saw your face, and the extent of the pain I'd caused you. Your lip was swollen, a chain of yellowing bruises ran along your jawline. The red cuts were so excruciatingly obvious against your porcelain-pale skin, the same as they'd been when you'd been sprawled on the floor with my fists raining down on you. But your eyes, they were different. Still pinkish, still teary, but soaked in love instead of fear. Damn, it was worth not dying just to see your eyes again.

"Well I just...because of...of what I said before...before..." You gave up on your stumbling words and started again. "I said I hoped you died, and then...you nearly did." You bit your quivering lip as fresh tears sprang to your eyes, looking back down at the floor.

"Patrick," I said, savouring every syllable, "if you only ever listen to one thing I say, let it be this. Nothing that happened that night was your fault. It was me that said those shitty things, me that did this to you, me that took those pills. I had already pretty much made up my mind, and after what I did to you I couldn't face it any more. Plus, there's a lot more shit going on with me than anyone knows. It takes a lot more than one sentence to get a person to the point where they want to die."

You thought for a moment, chewing on your lip all the while, your fingers knotting and unknotting over and over.

"I just...I couldn't bear that that was the last thing I'd ever said to my best friend," you said quietly.

"Looks like it's not any more. Apparently someone wants me to stick around a while longer," I said with a small laugh. Then my smile dropped. "Patrick, I am so sorry for what I did. Nothing I said was true, I was just tired and drunk and stupid, as always. You shouldn't be being nice to me when I'm the one who put those cuts all over you."

"It's already forgiven." you smiled, and I felt my heart do a stupid little skippy thing.

Suddenly you hugged me again, as if to check I was real, and somehow, this hug was even tighter than the last one.

"If you ever feel like that again, like you don't want to live any more, or if you've had a rough night, or if you just feel down and need someone, you call me straight away and we'll talk it out. I'm not having you being sad and not telling me, no-one should feel that alone. People care about you, Pete, please remember that." The desperate honesty in your voice struck a chord in me.

Those words mean everything to me. I'm glad I wrote them down. Even now, when I'm up past lights-off and can hardly see what I'm writing, I'm thinking about what you said. It makes me love you even more, but it also makes me love me a little bit too. Maybe I am a bit glad that I'm alive. Maybe there are some things worth sticking around for.

Thank you, Patrick.

From Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: What Patrick said goes for everyone out there who feels suicidal. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you, and please remember that I care about you and I want to help in any way I can.]


	11. Chapter 11

Dear Patrick,

They finally let me out of that hell-hole they call hospital. They did so many damn tests on me, checking that I was well enough to go home. They suggested I get a psychiatrist, well fuck that. I'd rather pour it all into these letters. Paper won't snitch about my feelings.

At least, it won't if you don't leave it lying around.

I'm sitting at home now, you guys just left. You were so sweet, you visited me in the hospital nearly every day after I woke up, and you drove me home.

I nearly choked when I walked through the door. You looked at me, beaming. The house was completely spotless, no broken beer bottles, no empty pizza boxes. You'd stocked the fridge and put the fruit bowl on the kitchen table to make it look like one of those model houses you see on adverts. I must admit, I nearly cried when I saw all the effort you put in. It feels like a new house altogether. Maybe it could pave the way for a new Pete. Hell, you even managed to get the bloodstains out the carpet. You really want me to get better, don't you?

I took this opportunity to hug you again, despite the warning signals bouncing round my brain. _I know_ that this is what happened last time, _I know_ I shouldn't let myself get too close to you, _I know_ I should be trying to get over you, but I was still in shock from the fact that you actually wanted to see me again, let alone keep being best friends. I wanted as much Patrick as I could get, you never know when I'm gonna fuck it all up again. And _damn_ , you give a good hug.

You all stayed for ages, and we talked things over. How this was going to affect the band, how you lot were going to help me get better, what the next step for the music was. Andy seemed to be cross-examining every answer I gave, as if at any moment I might jump up and impale myself on the coffee table. Joe was mostly watching the space between me and you on the sofa, which I was, albeit subconsciously, slowly lessening.

I tried my best to stop staring at you. But the thing is, with what's just happened, I can't trust myself with anything. This time tomorrow I might be drinking myself to death again. I don't want to waste your company, because I don't know when it'll be the last time.

I noticed that there are many different incarnations of your laugh. When you're nervous and don't really know what to say, you do this little throaty warble that doesn't quite touch your eyes. When someone compliments you, you smile and giggle a bit, and your eyes light up. Then, if Joe does one of his stupid jokes, you laugh harder, grinning your beautiful grin, crinkling up your eyes. And finally, there's the laugh that goes beyond the realms of sound. You collapse into a shaking mess of smiles, clapping your hands and doubling over, sometimes throwing your head back and closing your eyes as the silent cackles ripple through you. You make me laugh more than the joke did in the first place. Fuck, did I just write out a laugh analysis? These letters are getting weird.

About halfway through the evening, I found myself staring not at you for once, but at the bit of carpet a few feet away from the sofa which, not long ago, I had been lying dead. I feel so different now. One night I'm alone with not even a pulse for company, now I'm in the very same room, surrounded by friends and smiles. Suddenly, what I did seems crazy. I hadn't really managed to remember much about that night, but looking at the carpet, things started to come back to me. I could picture exactly where the bottle of pills had been, and the pen which slipped out of my hands halfway through that letter. Then it hit me. _The letter._

The pills had obviously been taken away from me, the pen was placed neatly on the dresser next to a small pile of mail, but where the hell was the letter? All the other ones were safely locked up somewhere upstairs, but the one I had been writing was nowhere at all. But... you'd tidied my house. You'd cleaned the lounge carpet. That means you found the letter. Shit.

I descended into silent panic, blocking out your conversation about some music crap to go through all of your actions towards me for signs that something was different, that you'd read it, but there was nothing. You'd been perfectly normal, just your sweet, adorable, I'll stop there before I lose my train of thought, self. Surely if you'd have read the letter that basically said I'd been in love with you this whole time you'd have something to say about it?

After spending the rest of the evening raiding my brain for answers, I came to my senses just before you guys decided to leave.

"So Pete, no more stunts like that, okay? We need you man, this band is going places and you gotta stick around for that." Andy said gruffly, shaking my shoulder as if to scare the suicide out of me. If only it was that easy.

You hugged me again, something I'll never get bored of. "You get better, you moron," you said gently as we parted, "if anything happens, call me and I'll come running. And think about the new album, we need something different. You should write more stuff, especially lyrics, you're really good at them," you said, a crooked smile in your eyes. Your face is nice. Most of the bruises have faded now, and the cuts are healing. Maybe I'm healing a bit too.

Just before you turned away, I had to ask. "Patrick...when you cleaned this place, you didn't find any letters of any sort, did you?" I wasn't entirely sure whether I wanted that question answered.

"Yeah, I put all your mail on the dresser, sorry." You said, and I felt myself relax.

"Oh okay, that's great, thanks. So where-?" I stopped myself mid-sentence, "...Thanks."

You left with Andy, giving me a quick grin from the front door before closing it behind you. At least this time, when you left, I knew you'd come back.

I hadn't realised I'd been staring after you with a stupid smile on my face until I heard a cough from behind me. Joe was still here.

He was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and jaw set. He looked like he'd been waiting a while to get me alone, which was weird because when Joe's pissed, he usually just shouts at you there and then. This seemed like more of a calculated attack.

"You're in love with Patrick." he snarled.

I felt my stomach twist.

I opened my mouth, but no sounds came out. There was absolutely nothing I could say to that. Apart from _yes._

Instead, I just sighed. Running a hand through my hair, I flopped down onto the couch, staring at the floor rather than into Joe's glare. That was it. He knows, he's going to tell you, you'll reject me and I'll end up right back where I was with a handful of pills in my stomach. Fuck.

"But how-?"

"I believe this is yours?" he cut me off, taking a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. The letter. Oh.

Because he was the one who found me. My dead face was probably buried in it, how could he _not_ have read it? It was basically a suicide note.

I threw the letter onto the coffee table, not wanting to relive that night ever again. I finally met Joe's eyes.

"How long?" He said simply.

I smiled bitterly. "I don't know. A while." I couldn't give him anything more than that. I'd denied it for so long that there was no clear answer.

"Ever acted on it?" he asked gruffly.

"No." It was mostly true. _One_ kiss, _once_. That's all.

"Good," he stated. "Don't. Ever."

"Why not?" I said, knowing full well that there was a very long list of reasons.

"Because he doesn't like you. He's got a girlfriend, Pete." He said it like I didn't know, when actually I've been going over all the different ways said girlfriend could die horrifically for some weeks now.

"I know." I didn't feel like elaborating much.

"Good." He said again. "Because if you get close to him, you'll end up hurting him." I knew he was thinking of _the night_ , as it has come to be called, and shuddered as your beaten face flashed across my mind. "Now, I get that you were fucked up in the head when you wrote that fucking letter. I get that you were in a bad place or whatever, and I guess I can come to terms with why you did what you did. But the thing is, I never, _ever_ , want to see you hurt Patrick like that again."

"I-"

"Pete, you were terrifying. First you said all that horrible crap, which was bad enough, but I never thought you'd hit him. And you just kept on going, as if you couldn't hear him screaming, or feel me trying to pull you off of him. I get that you're going through a lot, but the truth is, I don't trust you. I don't even think you trust you. What kind of a guy beats the shit out of his best friend? That's some fucked up love you've got there. So you better hurry up and get over him, get over this monster in you, because until then, I'll be watching your every move."

I breathed deeply, trying to take in everything he'd said. He was so right. I can't trust me. I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I just nodded. _Monster._

He stared me down for a few moments before starting what I guessed would be his final set of verbal punches.

"Stay away from Patrick. Stay away from his girlfriend. Don't you dare do anything to ruin what they have. I know deep down you're a good guy, but you won't hurt him again. You stop being 'in love' with him, you stop writing those creepy letters, and you don't lay so much as a finger on him, no matter how angry you get. Promise me now." He said it with such finality that I blurted out an _I promise_ before he'd finished the sentence.

He seemed to be satisfied with that. He straightened up, having been leaning over me menacingly, and some of his hostility vanished, going back to the jokey Joe I was friends with. "Okay, good. I'm glad we're clear on that. See you at practice, on, like, Thursday, is it? Bye!" He called back as he slammed the front door behind him.

I sat there for ages just trying to process what had just happened. Does this mean he's not planning on telling you? I crumpled up that goddamned letter, eventually mustering the strength to drag myself upstairs and put it with the other ones. You never know, it might make good lyric material.

So I can't even look at you without getting a knife-stare from Joe. Rehearsal is going to be fun.

I immediately searched the cupboards for any kind of alcohol, my old self slowly creeping back in, but of course, there was none. You've fucking taken it all haven't you? It hurts that you care about me so much. I'm trying not to care about you.

I'll get over you. Eventually.

From Pete


	12. Chapter 12

Dear Patrick,

I'm getting better. Like, I have my bad days, and my even worse nights, but I'm getting better.

You're here almost every single day, sometimes only for a short while, sometimes you stay late into the evening. You have no idea how much you've helped. Knowing that you'll come back tomorrow, that's what gets me through the night. Knowing that someone cares.

But. You being here means that Joe is never far behind. He always visits with you. He's always here before you, and he always goes home after you. I don't even know how he knows when you're going to be here, he's like psychic or something. The man is on a mission to stop me being alone with you even for a second. I mean, I love Joe, he's a great guy, but I would also love to slap him sometimes. The dude doesn't even take bathroom breaks when he's here.

Meanwhile, it's full speed ahead on the new record. I've been spouting lyrics all over the place with everything that's happened, and you just gather them all up and make music, it's amazing to watch. The other day, I did this thing talking about the suicide, but wrapped up in this love song, and you _got_ it, straight away. You read the messy words in the notebook I handed to you, and you saw what I was trying to say. And suddenly there was a melody, and they came to life. And it was so perfect. You're so perfect.

I'm doing a great job at getting over you.

I haven't seen much of Emma lately. There's a small hope in me that maybe you drifted apart, and decided to call it quits? Or maybe you started to like someone else, say, me? Or maybe she accidentally tripped and fell into a very deep hole with fire and knives at the bottom of it? A guy can dream. But Joe assures me that you are very happy together, so I just nod along when you talk about her.

That's the one time I can't stand you. You don't bring her up often, but when you do it's so deliberate, as if you want to show me how wrong I was about her. It's started seeping into our conversations more and more. You're all _Emma likes this shirt,_ or _Emma's so nice, she's so respectful of our music_ , or the one that hurt most, _it's great to have a girlfriend who's also your best friend_.

Your _best_ fucking _friend_. What happened to me, I thought I was your best friend? Or am I only worth something to you when I myself feel worthless? As soon as I start to get better, are you just going to abandon me?

No. I'm not going back there. This letter started out positively, I'm not going to let that go. You've been helping me so much, and you are at a perfect liberty to talk about your girlfriend at any time, even if it makes me want to throw up. Being angry at you didn't turn out well the last time, and besides, I'm getting better, aren't I.

Aren't I?

From Pete


	13. Chapter 13

Hey fucktard,

Nice going dude, well fucking done. You're even more stupid than I thought!

She's moving in with you. Moving in. Like, into your house. With you.

I helped you find that fucking flat. I was the one who persuaded you that you were ready to move out of your parents' house and grow the fuck up. I've been living on my own for years now, it's not hard. I even showed you where the best ones were, picked out the ones I thought you'd like and took you to see them, taught you about how renting works and taxes and stuff. It was one of the things that helped me get better, having a thing to do, a purpose. Made me feel like I was repaying you for everything you'd done for me.

 

We had a moving in party and everything. I'd stopped being angry at you because of _her_ , I'd decided to take Joe's advice and try to get over you. We all helped you move all your stuff out, even carried it up all those fucking stairs. Finally, we got everything in its place, and brought you some extra furniture so the place didn't look so empty. You smiled so much that day.

Then you stopped smiling. We had all been so over-excited for most of the afternoon, maybe because we'd got a load of the songs for the record sorted the day before, or possibly because of that massive bottle of Coke that Andy brought to give us 'energy', which it certainly did. Either way, we were so wrapped up in which cupboards were big enough to fit a human in that we didn't notice as you started to laugh a bit less. As we all took turns making 'carpet angels' on the floor in the nearly empty bedroom, we hardly even noticed that you just perched on the bed, knotting your fingers together.

Your parents turned up later in the day, they were all tears and hugs because they actually love you. It was strange seeing parents who were sad to see their son leave. Mine couldn't wait to be shot of me. They said things like _don't forget to call us every day_ , and _come visit us at weekends_ , and _if you need anything sweetie just say the word._ You just hugged them and told them not to worry and of course you'll call and thanked them for everything. You put on such a good show. When they left, the show ended.

You closed the door slowly, waving them off for as long as you could. Then you turned to us, your gaze taking in all the new space, all the empty space, like you were seeing the place for the first time. The sugar rush was wearing off now, and it was obvious how utterly petrified you were of being alone. You sat down on the sofa, a red puffy thing we'd picked up for you at a yard sale, and closed your eyes for a long time, as if praying that when you opened them, you'd be home again. But this isn't the fucking Wizard of Oz.

I was going to offer to stay the night, just to help you get used to the new place a bit, but I only got about halfway through that sentence before Joe gave me a death glare. You would've said no anyway.

So we all gradually left. I say gradually, I mean Andy left, then Joe dragged me out the door with him. I could see you were trying so hard to be strong, to be okay with this, and I wanted to tell you that it's fine that you're not okay, that this is a big thing and it going to take some getting used to, but I didn't. There's a lot of things I want to tell you, but probably never will. When you reached for the door handle to let us out, I saw your shaking fingers, when you said goodbye to us, I heard your voice crack the way it does when sobs are gathering in your throat. I wanted so badly to be the one to stop you feeling lonely.

 

But now she's the one.

And the fucking stupid thing is is that we all know why you asked her. It's not because you love her, it's certainly not because she loves you, it's because you're a coward. You can't be alone, you can't face actually growing up, you have to have someone to look after you. I kinda wanna punch you for being such a goddamned baby the whole fucking time. You think it's leading somewhere, that maybe you'll end up happy and in love and get married and have kids and it'll all be happy. That's what everyone thinks the first love will be like. But it never is. And you don't even know.

Let me make this crystal clear: She. Does. Not. Like. You. You're making a massive mistake, and you will regret it soon. I may hate what I did to you that night ages ago but I stand by what I said. She's gonna eat you up alive, and I won't stop her.

So to summarise, you can take your new flat and shove it up your fat ass, you stupid little shit, and don't you dare come crying to me when that whore of yours rips up your heart and makes you eat the pieces.

Fuck off, dickhead.

From Pete


	14. Chapter 14

I only ever write to you, so what's the fucking point of putting your name at the top of the page.

I can hardly look at you anymore, because I know if I do I won't be able to stop looking.

You said you loved her, and I think I died a bit.

You said you loved living with her, that maybe she was _the one_ , that waking up with her next to you was the best thing in the world.

I hate that it's her who makes you feel like that. I hate that it's her that gets to touch you, to kiss you. I hate that after all this time, I'm still this hung up on you. I hate that I hate her so much. I hate me.

But the thought of her hands on you makes me want to rip my eyes out. Because of course, you're sharing a bed. And of course, that means when I'm falling asleep, alone, every night, I can practically hear the bed springs bouncing from three blocks away, and see the sweat glistening on your flustered faces.

It's been a while since I've written one of these. The record is our entire lives at the moment. And hey, you didn't even notice that one of the songs is about your slut of a girlfriend. You assumed it was about someone _I'd_ slept with. Ha. I never 'sleep' with people, I just fuck them in a nightclub bathroom then leave. I wrote a song about that too. You're so stupid.

Even Andy and Joe think so. When you come out with all this stuff about how she's _changed you_ or whatever, we breathe disbelieving little laughs and exchange mocking glances, because you think you're in love.

Well, I've got news for you. _This_ is love. Not being able to sleep because the tears keep coming, hating every waking second when the loneliness seeps through you like poison, feeling little pains shoot across your chest when you see _that_ person, feeling a stake through your heart if they're with someone else, devotion, destruction, desperation. This is love. I hate it.

This'll be the last stupid letter I write. I thought they'd help me get over you, but I just got more obsessed. All it is is self-destruction. So I'm going to burn all of them tonight, every last one, to try and send you up in flames too. Then we'll be back to normal. I can focus on the music, and get my life together, and keep my friends. I guess this is it then. Bye.

I hate you. Ihateyouihateyouihateyouihateyou.

I love you.

From Pete.  


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Brace for angst.]

Dear Patrick,

I know. I know I said I wouldn't write another of these, I know I said I'd get over you. But let's face it, who the fuck was I kidding?

It's been a while, though. The record came out about a month ago, and since then we've been all photo-shoots and interviews, it's crazy. We never had any of this for the last one. But people like it. They really really like it. We're being played on the radio and stuff, people are offering us things and paying us in actual money instead of pizza. There's been so many gigs, even some awards shows, it's difficult to get my head around it all. People love that song Sugar, and I love that they love it. We wrote that one as a group, as a team, on one of my better days, trying to make it work in any way we could, then you played this little bit of the chorus and it all fell into place. I felt so good about that song, I didn't feel the need to drink myself into a coma that night.

Being in the studio with you again was pretty amazing. I didn't think you could be better than the first time around, but I was so wrong. You're so focussed, so intent on getting every little detail absolutely perfect. You always stayed way after the rest of us had gone home, mind buried in the music. A couple of times, we'd even arrive at the studio the next morning to find you asleep at the desk, glasses skewed and hat fallen to the floor, your dreams still weaving unsung melodies.

Fuck, listen to me. I must be woozy from the lack of alcohol.

You know I started drinking again. It's written all over my face in gaunt shadows and heavy headaches. When you come over, which has been less and less recently, and I leave the room, I can hear you pouring it down the sink frantically, as if every drop you take from me buys me extra seconds. You never talk to me about it though. There was a time when you might have, when you weren't scared of me and trusted me not to hurt you. You had so much hope in me a few months ago. All I get from you now is concerned glances and nervous questions about how I've been.

But maybe, after last night, things will change. I'm probably being too hopeful again, but hope is all I have and I'll conjure it up from anywhere.

I can't say I didn't see it coming. But I didn't see it coming like this. You definitely didn't.

 

It was late, it must have been at least one in the morning. I woke up, head throbbing and throat dry. I got up and staggered downstairs, nearly landing myself in hospital in the process, lumbering into the kitchen, heading for the tap. I gulped down more water than I thought my body could take, feeling it cooling my boiling blood and soothing my aching brain.

After hanging over the sink for a few moments, breathing deeply, I filled a glass full of water and guided it back towards the stairs, spilling most of it over my feet, groaning as it seeped through my socks. Then I heard a noise outside.

I immediately switched to horror-movie mode, putting the glass down and grabbing the nearest vaguely weapon-like object, which happened to be a spatula. I brandished it at the darkness, squinting to make out anything that might be moving. All I saw was the dim outline of the couch, and the hallway beyond. Listening, I made my way towards the sounds, which were kind of like little laughs, not something I wanted to hear alone in the middle of the night. I crept across the sitting room, staring at the hallway, holding the spatula out in front of me as if it were a sword. Once I'd made it to the far wall, I smashed the lights on, flipping every single switch because I can never remember which ones do what. They revealed my empty lounge and kitchen, and I sighed, realising that the only psychopath in my house was me. Laughing a little at the now ridiculous looking spatula in my hand, I went to turn the lights back off when I noticed I'd turned on the outside porch light by accident. The noises stopped, and all I heard now was a small scuffling, which was getting gradually quieter. Whatever it was, it had been right outside my house.

I leapt over to the front door, wrenching it open with one hand whilst gripping the spatula in the other. At first, all I could see was the bright yellow light, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw a small figure hurrying away. Even though sleep-blurred eyes, I knew who it was.

"Patrick!" I called, feeling the cold concrete under my feet as I stumbled out of the door. "Patrick, wait!"

You stopped, and for a moment I thought you might just keep walking. But you looked round at me, looking utterly stupid in my baggy pyjama bottoms, my massive grey sweater, and stripey blue socks, still wielding the spatula. You started back towards me, your hat pulled over your face and your eyes on the ground. I reached the pavement, now only a few metres from you, and slowed down, my head spinning from all the unexpected activity.

"Patrick, are you alright?" I asked through heaving breaths, leaning down a little bit to try and see your face. You turned your head away sharply, but I started to guide you towards my open front door, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder and trying not to freak out about why the hell you were sitting on my doorstep at this time of night, and feeling guilty that my heart had jumped at the mere sight of you. I felt you tense up, and quickly took my hand away. I noticed just as we walked through the door that your hands were curled into fists.

I shut the door behind us, turning the porch light off and the lounge lights on for the second time that night. I had to nearly push you through the hallway and into the dimly illuminated room.

I stood a few feet from you, and waited for some kind of explanation. None came.

"Patrick?" I said after a few moments of rigid silence. You jumped, looking at me as if I'd just fired a gun near you. Your eyes were tinted red around the edges and your face was as white as the glaring moon outside.

You breathed a slow breath, as if in readiness for what was to come. Then you spoke quietly at the floor. "You were right."

I didn't know what you'd meant at the time. I was so bewildered by whatever the hell was going on that your words just confused me more, so I just slurred a dull "What?" at you.

"I..um...you...I just...I didn't..." you mumbled, the sentence stolen away by silence. You tried again. This time you were more successful.

"Me and Emma...we broke up."

I felt my heart do a little somersault. The news sunk through me, and when I had fully processed it I had to try my utmost not to let my face split into a bigger smile than it had done in ages. No more Emma. No more poisonous jealousy. No more rules keeping me from you. No more rivals. I praised every god I could think of and thanked all my lucky stars, my mind racing and my heart running alongside.

Then I realised that this perhaps wasn't the best reaction from your point of view, so I put on my best sad face and said, "Oh no. That's awful. What happened?" I hoped to god you didn't hear the sarcasm.

"She cheated." You said simply, and I very nearly laughed out loud, because of course, _of course_ that was why.

"Who with?" I asked, trying to compose myself.

"Pretty much everyone." Oh, this just gets better and better. What a marvellous _I told you so_ gift.

"So how did you find out?" I questioned, because I had to say something or I might just have broken into song.

You shifted a foot, and I sensed a slight change in the atmosphere, like perhaps that was the wrong question to ask.

"I...I walked in on them. Have...having sex. In my house. In my bed."

My glee disappeared. Ouch. Of all the ways to find out. I couldn't deny that I'd wished it to happen, but like that? That was just plain cruel.

"Oh. Wow, Patrick, I'm sorry." I almost meant it that time. "Did you just end it there and then?"

"Pretty much. I mean, I let them, um, get...get cleaned up. He left pretty quickly. Then I asked her to leave too. But, she didn't want to, because she'd have to move back with her parents and stuff, and all her things were here and whatever." You tailed off.

"But, Patrick, she had to leave. Please tell me she's gone now?" I asked, a little shocked.

"Yeah, she's gone now. But not without a fight. At first she told me he raped her. Then she said he was just an old friend who she hadn't seen in a while and it would never happen again. Then I told her I didn't believe her, and please could she go because I didn't want to see her any more. Then she started...saying things." Your voiced cracked a little at the end of your sentence, and I began to realise that I maybe hadn't heard the worst of it.

"What did she say?" I said, wariness creeping into my voice. You just shook your head. I raised my voice just a little. "Patrick, what did she say to you?"

Your knuckles were white and your head bowed, still staring rigidly at the floor. I could hear you consciously trying to control your breathing, in, out, in, out. Carefully, slowly, you began to tell me, keeping your voice steady.

"She said she'd been seeing other guys since we first started dating. In fact, there'd never been a time when she was exclusively dating me. She was only interested in me because I was a good boy, a cover up so her parents wouldn't get mad at her for sleeping around. Also because I would buy her things, and take her to shows where she could meet more guys. Better guys." You swallowed hard, struggling to keep the words from falling out.

"She said they were all better. That a hundred of me couldn't match up to one of them. That they talked better, looked better, fucked better. She...she really rubbed my face in that last one." You said with a what was probably meant to be a laugh, but came out as more of a shrill yelp.

"Then...she...she-" Suddenly your voice jumped up an octave, and I saw your body cave in a little. You were breaking right in front of my eyes, cracks appearing in your composure.

"She...she said..." You tried to keep yourself in one piece, but as the words crumbled, so did you. You gulped sharply, then before I knew it you were on the floor, folding your arms across the coffee table and burying your face in them. The sound of violent tears filled the room, and I realised that that was the noise I'd heard outside, only it hadn't been like this. This was so much worse. You sounded like you were trying to cough up your lungs. I just stood there like an idiot, staring at the broken boy on the floor in front of me.

"Patrick, whatever she said to you, it's bullshit." I said pathetically, as if that was going to help.

"No!" You sobbed, the word muffled through your sleeves, "she...she...she jabbed my...my stomach and said...said my body was even uglier than my face, and that she had to...had to try not to throw up every time I got undressed in front of her...and that...and that I could screech out as many shitty songs as I wanted but I'll always be a worthless, talentless, stupid fat kid, who doesn't deserve anyone's sympathy, let alone anyone's love."

Fuck. It was like a punch in the face. I had no idea what to say to that. You'd recited her words as if they had been burned into the back of your eyelids, choking on their poison. I realised that my own hands were now curled into fists, and my burning hatred for her blazed brighter than ever. And you believe her. Oh god, you believe her.

But I couldn't get angry. I couldn't go hunt her down and ruin her existence. Because at that moment, my feelings didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was you.

"Patrick, please, every single word of what she said was a lie." I knelt down next to you, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. You flinched away from it, crying harder than ever.

"Don't touch me, I'm not worth it." You choked, with so much conviction it hurt.

I felt a stab of guilt as I remembered my very own words to you. _And you'll see just how worthless you really are._ I said that to you. I mean, I was in love with you, and I still am, so I know that what I said was all just empty anger, but you didn't know that. Come to think of it, I've said quite a few things that you could easily have taken seriously. But no. You couldn't believe that, I won't let you believe it. No-one is worthless. No-one should ever think that about themselves.

Suddenly, you got up, turning away from me and rubbing your eyes fiercely. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't be here...I'm sorry I woke you up...sorry I dumped all of my stupid problems on you...I'm sorry for everything." you whispered through the tears, and you started walking back towards the front door. But there was no way I was letting you be by yourself. You were hurting so bad, and I was determined to do something about it.

I leapt towards you and scooped you up in the tightest hug I'd ever given anyone, running my hands across your back and pulling you as close to me as possible, trying to squeeze her agonising words out of you, to heal your wounds. You inhaled sharply but didn't pull away, tentatively wrapping your arms around my torso. After a few more seconds, I felt you relax a little, and you sobbed into my shoulder, tears slowly seeping through the fabric of my jumper. I leant my head towards yours, and whispered as gently as I could.

"You listen to me Patrick. You are the most beautiful, kind and talented person I have ever known. You have nothing to be sorry for, you are my best friend. And you always will be." It was probably one of the most honest sentences I'd ever spoken.

I felt you shake your head, and my heart dropped a little.

"B-but, it's true, it's all true and I'm s-so stupid and pathetic a-and-"

I cut you off by pulling away, holding your shoulders and scanning your tear-stained face, your beautiful eyes rubbed raw and red. I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking those awful things for one second, because I was looking at you and even when you were this broken, you're always perfect to me.

I didn't know what to say, so I just grabbed your wrist and tugged you over to the couch, sitting down in the corner and pulling you next to me. You gasped short little breaths, still shaking like a leaf, and every time you blinked, a few more tears would fall. I wrapped an arm firmly round your shoulders, leaning back a little so you could lean on me.

After a few minutes of silence, interrupted by little sobs here and there, I stretched myself out a little, so that I was almost lying flat on the sofa, propped up by the arm. I reached over to you and lifted your hat off, placing it on the coffee table, before gently taking off your tear-smudged glasses, and setting them down carefully. You sighed a little, and toed your shoes off, bringing your legs up onto the couch and curling up close to me. I shifted over a bit, shaping my body around you so you could be as comfortable as possible, physically if not emotionally. I felt a shiver run through me as you lay your head on my chest, one of your hands resting lightly on my stomach. I was sure you could hear my heartbeat speed up.

I savoured the feeling of you so close to me, your warmth giving me strange butterflies inside me. Suddenly, all the drinking, all the anger, all the depression, it all seemed so tiny. I forgot everything but you.

The urge to kiss you stirred within me, but I pushed it aside. You didn't need me for that, you needed me as a friend, a guardian. And I was content with that. You trusted me, you came to me for help, you poured your soul out in front of me, and I am so, so thankful. That you would choose me to catch your tears means more to me than anyone could ever know.

Slowly, your sobs turned to whimpers, and you began to fade. You were all cried out, and sleep started to seep through you. I felt the tension leave your body, and the tears leave your breaths, and I remember looking at you and thinking how lucky I was just to be near you. Sighing, I tried to take in everything that had happened, and everything that would happen as a result.

After a few moments, I felt you shift slightly, your hand twitching and brushing ever so slightly against mine. I moved it away, but to my astonishment, you reached out, your fingers searching until they found my arm. They ran along my wrist, sending tingling sensations down my forearm, and I watched as your fingers entwined themselves with my own, squeezing ever so slightly. I felt electrified, staring down at our interlocked hands and wondering whether or not I was conscious. You sighed slightly in your sleep, and I sighed in my waking dream, a smile spreading through me, right down to my toes. Wow. It was such a small gesture, yet it made me so damn happy.

I didn't think about why you did that, I didn't think about why you were okay with us technically sleeping together. I didn't let myself. I couldn't jump to conclusions, as much as I'd like to, it wasn't fair on you. But there was this tiny bit of new hope that glittered inside me. And I didn't try to stamp it out.

I eventually fell asleep too, listening to your soft breaths beside me and feeling your chest rise and fall against me. It was one of the best nights sleep I've ever had. I'd never felt quite so peaceful. You were my new alcohol.

 

A few hours later, I stirred awake, hearing the sounds of the morning seep through the curtains. It must have been about six o'clock, and it was weird to be awake at that time because most days I miss the morning altogether. Then I looked across and saw you, still curled up under my arm, your fingers still laced with mine. That same feeling of tingling happiness swept through me all over again, making me grin like an idiot.

I could've stayed like that forever, but I knew what the best thing to do was. When I was little, and I had a bad dream, I used to run downstairs to my parents, and they'd stop my tears, and I'd stay with them on the sofa until I became too tired to be scared any more. But in the morning, I'd always be back in my bed, and it was like the night before hadn't happened at all. It made me forget my nightmares, knowing that whatever happened, I'd wake up in my own bed, having been carried sleepily upstairs by my parents. At least, before they started to hate me.

Anyway, carefully as I could, I shuffled away from you, supporting your head where it had been resting on my chest. Resisting the urge to take a photo of our interlocked hands as proof that I hadn't dreamed this, I slowly prised your fingers from mine, before slipping an arm under your legs and another around your shoulders. Very slowly, I lifted you up and away from the couch, making sure to grab your glasses beforehand. I moved towards and up the stairs, trying not to bump you around too much, because I wouldn't like to have to explain why I was carrying you bridal style up to my bedroom. When I got to the top, I turned and nudged the bedroom door open with my foot, very nearly banging your head against the door frame as I walked through. My god, it was a mess in here. I'd forgotten what kind of a state I'd been in before you turned up last night.

I set you down lightly on my bed, bringing the duvet over you and tucking it around you. You sighed, stirring a bit, and I froze, taking my hands away and hoping you wouldn't wake up. Your eyes fluttered open for a second, and you looked up at me. I quickly tried to think of something to say, but you just shut your eyes again, a shadow of a smile touching your lips. After wriggling around under the covers for a moment, you sighed again, and your body went limp, taken back into the arms of sleep. I grinned at how utterly adorable you were.

Setting your glasses on the bedside table, I did a quick tidy-up of my bedroom, making sure to remove any bottles and underwear, and double-checking that the box with all my letters in was locked up and out of sight, which I decided not to burn in the end, before creeping back downstairs, casting a last glance towards the peaceful boy asleep in my bed.

And now I'm sitting back on the sofa, writing about said boy. I didn't even realise how much I'd written until I saw seven or eight pieces of paper scattered around me. I guess I just want to get that whole night down in writing so that I know it definitely happened.

I'm thinking I should cook breakfast, like actual proper breakfast food and not just cold pizza. What do people usually have for breakfast? Eggs and toast and stuff? I guess I could do that. What kind of breakfast do you like? It annoys me that I don't know. I'd like to think that someday I'll be the person that knows exactly what you like, exactly how to cheer you up after a rough night. And last night was a rough night. I haven't seen many people cry like you did then. But I know what it's like.

What about pancakes? I could so cook pancakes for you. I even think I might have some maple syrup in one of the cupboards left over from when you restocked for me. Pancakes with lovely drizzly maple syrup over the top, in a perfect little pile like on the adverts. And hot chocolate too, you love hot chocolate. And I'll set out all the cutlery perfectly and time it just right so that when you wake up it'll be right there waiting for you. That's what I'll do.

Better get cooking then.

From Pete

 


	16. Chapter 16

Dear Patrick,

It's been about a week since you turned up on my doorstep. I can't tell if you're over her, I think you are. I hope you are.

I'm attempting to write this on the tour bus. We have a proper bus this time, not just some crappy van. You're asleep in your bunk, I'm trying to make as little noise as possible, and failing. Your face is just visible through the bars of the bunk, all bundled up in blankets. You're the closest thing to an angel I've ever seen.

I hope you're not dreaming about her.

 

We talked things over the morning after you stayed the night.

The smell of pancakes filled the house, masking the stench of must and alcohol that I was so used to, and hell, they were actually pretty good, for my first try. I'd messed up a couple at first, failing to flip them properly so they just scrunched up in the pan like wet socks, and although they probably would have tasted fine, I wasn't going to settle for anything but perfection. Eventually, I'd cooked a neat little pile of them on both our plates, keeping them warm in the oven so that I could whip them out as soon as you came downstairs. It was the most fun I'd had in ages.

Eventually, I heard erratic footsteps coming from my bedroom, and listened as they made their way slowly and carefully down the staircase. A fluffy-haired, puffy eyed sleepy head poked his face around the corner, looking slightly nervously at my proud grin, and the pancakes on the table. You stared at them for a bit, and I sat down, grabbing my knife and fork and looking back at you expectantly. Slowly, you shuffled into plain sight, still in your crumpled clothes from the night before, your glassed shoved clumsily onto your face and balanced precariously on the end of your nose.

You hovered at the edge of the table for a second, before plopping down in the chair opposite me and tucking in to the pancakes, cutting them into little pieces with just the right amount of syrup on each, and when you tasted them, your eyes rolled back and you hummed quietly, savouring every mouthful. Fuck, even you eating is like art.

We sat there in comfortable silence, until we'd finished breakfast. Then I decided that I needed to make sure you'd realised that every single thing Emma said to you was a lie, and that if you think for one second that you are worthless then I will do my utmost to show you how absurdly untrue that is.

"So how're you feeling?" I asked, scanning your face for any signs of last night's sobs.

You smiled weakly, playing around with a last bit of pancake on your plate. "Better," you said simply. I waited for you to elaborate, but you didn't.

"I'm so sorry about what happened. She's a bitch, Patrick, you're better off without her."

"I guess," you mumbled. Wow, you really weren't going to make this easy, were you?

"Seriously, you can do so much better than her, you'll find someone way above her level." Like ME.

You gave a faint little snort, and bowed your head, sipping at your hot chocolate quickly.

"Did you love her?" I said, more gently this time.

You shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think I even know what love is. I just know it hurts."

Yeah, tell me about it.

Quietly, you carried on. "I was so sure that you were wrong about her. That I had found someone who liked me for the stuff on the inside. But I was wrong. Why am I always wrong?" You said it more to the hot chocolate than to me.

"Listen, Patrick, none of this was your fault. Everything that happened was completely down to her."

"But if I'd listened, if I'd been less of a stupid blind idiot then this wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't have...cut me up like this."

"Look, nothing she said was-"

"BUT IT IS TRUE!" You suddenly shouted, slamming your hand down on the table and making the plates rattle. "It is true."

You looked down at the floor, and I just sat there with no idea how to convince you of your own perfection. But I could do it. I could tell you how beautiful you are, I could tell you how every day I wake up and the only thing that drags me out of bed is the chance that I might see you, I could tell you to never ever think that you will never be loved because I love you, I am in stupid crazy love with you and I wouldn't change it for the world. I could tell you that. But I don't. Because that would ruin everything.

We sat there in shocked silence for a few moments, and all I could hear were your heavy breaths as you tried to calm down.

"Thank you."

It was barely a whisper, but I heard it loud and clear. Looking up at you, I saw that you were gazing straight at me.

"What for?" I mumbled back, breaking the eye contact before I did anything stupid.

"Just...everything. Thanks for putting up with my stupid emotional bullshit. For not laughing in my face when I told you what happened. And for last night."

"It's okay. That's what I'm here for." I said, still not looking at you.

"But seriously. I should have stayed home and not bothered you...but I guess I just hated the thought of being alone." You sighed.

"No, you can bother me any time. And...last night was good for me too." I immediately regretted that last bit. Why the fuck did I think that was a good thing to say? I prayed that maybe you were to sleepy to have fully understood what that meant.

"Wait, why was it good for you?"

Oh shit. Quick, think of something believable that doesn't involve confessing your crippling obsession with your best friend.

"Oh, erm, it was just good to, to reconnect I guess, I feel like we got a bit distant but...I'm just glad I could be there for you." I stuttered, waiting to see if you'd buy it.

Your lips curved into a small smile, and your eyes lit up a bit, making my insides squirm. And, wait, was that a blush creeping into your cheeks? No. Just my imagination.

"Well, thank you. I..I think it really helped. Just...just knowing that someone cares." You fiddled with a bit of loose thread on your shirt hem, and I made the most of you looking away by staring at your face for an uncomfortably long time.

"And thank you for the pancakes." You said, looking up with a grin, which I returned, "Do you mind if I use your shower?"

I nodded, and was definitely not thinking about what you look like in the shower, and was also definitely not trying to keep myself from asking if I could join you.

You smiled and picked up the plates, putting them in the dishwasher carefully before shuffling upstairs again. I stared after you for longer than I should have.

 

And I remember thinking, in the hope of the moment that maybe there had been just a little spark between us? There was this tension in the room that I'd never felt before, as if someone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. What if it was a moment? What if finally my luck was turning, and you might, just might, see me as more than a friend? I mean it's got to be about time.

But then Joe found out.

The day after, the tour started. It's been crazy, we're even doing interviews and all that professional shit. We're playing in all the big places too, and I think we're all starting to think that maybe this could go somewhere.

We'd got all our bags packed and were lugging them onto the bus. I hadn't spoken to you much, hadn't mentioned what had happened. I guess I wanted to leave things up to you, you were still pretty fragile and I didn't want to be the one that broke you again. I knew you needed space, and I planned to give you just that. Turns out Joe didn't buy that.

You and Andy had got on the bus, and I had one foot through the door, when Joe pulled me back out, slamming the door and staring straight at me. He put a hand on my shoulder, but it felt like it was more for constraint than consolation. I dropped my bags, mentally preparing myself for a turnout of broken ribs and bloody noses.

But when he spoke, he spoke calmly, eyes boring into mine like drills.

"Okay. I know that Patrick broke up with his girlfriend. And I know that he is now single and vulnerable. And I also know that despite me telling you to get over him, you are still completely besotted. So that leaves us with a problem." he said it as if he was trying to sell me something.

"Why, what's the problem?" I asked innocently. I knew exactly what the problem was. I'd spent the last week working my brain around the goddamned thing.

"The problem is that with Patrick now available, and your fucking self-control issues, somewhere along the line, you're gonna hurt him. And I'm not going to let that happen. So I'm going to make sure he finds someone as soon as possible, and make sure you stay as far away from him as you can. You've gotta understand that you can't act on your stupid fucking feelings, you can't risk him and the band and yourself over something like this."

"But-"

"Pete, I know I sound like I'm Patrick's dad or something, and I know you think I'm an ass for doing this, and maybe I am, but I know it's for the best. You have to get over him. For both of your sakes. Because I can see it's eating you alive." His voice had become less harsh, and the hand on my shoulder relaxed a little.

The worst part was, he was right. It was tearing me up.

"So, you're not going to do anything, and you'll let me try and find him someone else?"

I nodded. My insides were screaming, but I nodded.

I thought maybe the first time was a one-off, but Joe really wasn't letting up on the whole keeping-us-apart thing. Well, keeping me from you, anyway.

But then I guess I'm used to disappointments by now.

He let go of me and gave me a smile, genuine but full of pity. I resisted the urge to kick him. I guess he means well. But he's so wrong. I wouldn't hurt you. I'd never hurt you. I'd feed you marshmallows and straighten your glasses and cuddle you all night. I wish I could do that. Please, god, let me do that.

I've kept my promise though. I keep my distance from you, even on stage, stopped myself nuzzling your neck like I do and whispering stupid stuff in your ear. I make sure I go to bed well before or well after you so that there's no chance I'd see you getting changed or whatever. I've hardly looked at you for the past week. I wonder if you've noticed.

The thing is, Joe is nothing if not a man of his word, and he certainly kept his promise too. We've only been out for a week and he's already dragging us off to parties, playing Cupid. I watch him as he drags you up to some girl and tries to spark something, and maybe you talk a little, at best you kiss, but it hasn't gone further than that yet, thank god. I should know, I've been watching you. That makes me sound like such a creep, but at this stage, I've no dignity left to lose.

I hate every one of them. Even if nothing happens, even if Joe can't get the girl to talk to you, or you to her, and she just drifts off into the crowd, I'm jealous. Because at least she got the chance. At least there was the potential there, waiting for someone to reach out and grab it. I'll never get my chance. I'll never get you.

From Pete.  


	17. Chapter 17

Okay Patrcik,

I don't give a fuck about          anything anymore, I just                   want you here, with me,        I want you mine

im gonna make you mine I need you I don't care wha          t joe says hes wrong your destined for me

im sick of fucjing waiting for you im not going t         o wait anymore you might say its just the drink but I swear im not that drunk

plus drinkign just amplifies your thoguhts it doesnt change them you wait

some point on this tour ill get you im gonna do something big you wait

wait

joe was right when he said youd find someone its me pat its me please be me

wve been in this bus for weeks now and I havent done anythign but I will I feel like this is it what if I kissed you would you like me then im going to kiss you youre so pretty its such a waste

joe might take you to clubs try and find you a girl but he hasnt and he won't because before you find anyone ill be there.

Then I wont need drink just you and youll need me and it will be perfct

from your futrue husband


	18. Chapter 18

Dear Patrick,

Fuck, I was drunk writing that last letter. I can hardly even read it, and I think I must have spilt whatever coma-inducing liquid I was pumping into myself over it at some point, all the writing is smudged, and most of it is complete bullshit anyway.

However.

I'm kinda thinking over the whole fuck-what-Joe-thinks-I'm-going-to-make-you-mine-and-be-the-best-boyfriend-ever-and-live-happily-ever-after idea. Because drunk Pete was right. Who cares what anyone else thinks? What matters is what you think, whether you like me or not, whether you'd consider dating me. Plus, I'm starting to think that if I don't get you soon, I might lose myself. I'm going crazy over this, but Patrick, you could save me.

I don't even know if you like guys. But then again, I didn't even know _I_ liked guys until I met you.

And there's all these thoughts buzzing round my head, what if you don't see me like that, what if you're completely and utterly straight, what if you don't think it would work, what if you don't want to ruin our friendship? But fuck it. I'm done worrying. I have to try. Or I know I'll regret it for the rest of my life.

So what to do? Do I just tell you outright, _hey Patrick I fancy the pants off you and was wondering if you would be interested in fucking me senseless?_ No, you're not that type of guy, and I'm not that brave. Something more subtle then, _Patrick, we've been friends for a while now, and I'm starting to think maybe I might want something more. Do you think...we could be something more?_ Hmm. Gentler, but I need something even more subtle, that I can brush off as simple friendly affection if it backfires.

We're on the last leg of the tour, and it's killing me that you're so close to me all the time, and yet not nearly as close as I'd like. I hate being five metres from your sweat-soaked, music-possessed body every night on stage, and not being able to plant kisses all over it. The last few weeks have been amazing, the crowds are so great, we're so great, I'm so proud of us. But we could have so much more, me and you. I can't be around you this much without falling in love with you all over again.

We've got a few days until our next show, so we've decided to take a bit of a break and breathe out. The bus is gonna stop soon, and we'll stay in this little town for a day or so, just to restock and recuperate. You and Joe know this old record store there, so you'll no doubt be spending most of the day off the bus. So.

I have an idea.

From Pete


	19. Chapter 19

Patrick,

I'd planned it all out so well.

You'd slept through the whole morning and lunchtime, and only after Joe bellowed at you to _get the fuck up_ , did you groan and slowly pull yourself out of sleep. Watching you get out of bed is like watching someone try to swim through treacle. First, you roll over and doze for like an hour, then after someone shouts at you again, you sit up, usually smacking your head on the ceiling in the process. Serves you right for insisting on having the top bunk. Then you just kinda stay there, all bundled up in your duvet, your face sticking out of the top, looking a bit like a meringue, your hair fluffed all over the place. Then there's complaints, more groaning and some cursing, and you unwrap yourself from the cocoon and wobble down the ladder, landing on the floor with a thump and rubbing your eyes. Then you might stumble into the kitchen and get breakfast, or take a shower.

On this particular morning, well, afternoon, Joe was pretty pissed because it was gone three o'clock and he really wanted to go look round this record store, so he made you skip breakfast and nagged you to get changed as quickly as possible. I couldn't really blame him, the day was nearly over, and the manager's kid was arriving later, so we were enjoying some alone time while we could. I mean, _three_ , Patrick, _really_? I'd already been out to the town twice, once to do laundry and the second time to get some stuff I knew I'd need for the plan. Joe had cleaned like the entire bus at least three times waiting for you, and I had no idea where Andy was. He usually liked to get up and workout when we got breaks like this, so we probably wouldn't see him 'till later. He's one of those _prefers to be out_ kind of guys.

So anyway, you and Joe were out, Andy was god knows where, and I'd told you guys that I was meeting some friends later on so you wouldn't think I'm a sad lonely loser. Which I am, but that's beside the point.

I'd been to the store earlier, and got a massive bag of food, mostly chips and that special guacamole Joe likes, but I also got some other things. I was all set to make the food you loved. I'd printed off a load of recipes, in readiness for this.

The thing was, after I made those pancakes for you, you didn't stop going on at me to cook more stuff. You were all _Pete if I do your laundry can you make me breakfast_ and _no, no, let Pete cook he's so good._ I'd spent a good deal of the tour making stuff for everyone, which would have been fine if it was just you, or even just us four, but when you have a whole management team plus some very greedy roadies and a massive bodyguard, it was pretty hard work. Plus, the manager's kid was gonna be one extra mouth to feed. But tonight, that was just about you.

I knew you went crazy for this soup we had a while back in some town east of Chicago, so I hunted down the place and after some very awkward phone calls got the name of it, and with the magic of google found out how to recreate it. Then there were the pumpkin squares, which involved me having to come up with an excuse to get your mum's number and ask for the recipe. I'm pretty sure she now thinks I'm a psychopath. But whatever, it was gonna be so worth it. Finally, I bought this huge tub of hot chocolate powder, and a bag of mini marshmallows, and also a can of squirty cream which I did not use to see what I'd look like with a beard.

So I spent the whole afternoon on the bus, occasionally dashing into town to get something I'd forgotten, cooking your favourite things. I just prayed you wouldn't be home before I'd finished. By late afternoon, I was pretty much done actually cooking, so I spent a stupidly long amount of time arranging the pumpkin squares on the plate in a neat little pile, and tweaking the soup temperature to make sure it was just hot enough for us to eat as soon as you got in the door. Everything smelled so good, the sweet spiced pumpkin smell wafting through the bus and chasing away the whiff of stale sweat. I even set the little table, with the proper type of spoon and everything, god bless Joe's cutlery obsession, sitting us opposite each other.

I guess my thinking behind this whole thing was that you'd see how much I cared. You'd forget about that Emma girl, and see me instead, the one cooking you soup and staring into your eyes and telling you you're wonderful. And the whole dinner for two thing? In my eyes it was basically a date. You'd be all happy that I made you all this food, and you'd see that I'm the one you should be focussing your attention on, and after we'd eaten, I'd tell you how beautiful you are and I'd lean in, cupping your cheek in my hand, and press your lips to mine. Joe would go mental, but it wouldn't matter because you'd tell him _don't worry, I'm in love with him too, and_ _I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt me._ Or, if you didn't give me any signals, I could brush it off easily, saying I just wanted to treat my best friend to a good meal, plus I wanted to try and cook something different. Either way, it couldn't go wrong.

Except it did. Oh god, it did.

Andy got in just before you, walking in the door and smelling all the weird things I'd been making. I'd jumped out of my seat, thinking it was you, and he looked at me for a moment before gazing around at all the new food on the table.

"What's all this?" He said, raising his eyebrows at me.

I sat down again, trying to seem casual. "Oh, nothing really. Just fancied cooking something." I shrugged.

"Cool, I'm starving, what d'ya cook?"

"Oh..uhh.." I stammered, trying to think of a way to stop him eating my hard day's work. "Nothing here is vegan, sorry."

He stopped making towards the food and screwed up his face as if I'd just told him I'd cooked the contents of our toilet, and sighed, "Urgh, fine. I'll go find some real food then."

He made towards the bunks, but stopped suddenly, staring at the plates crammed on the tiny sideboard. "Wait, you made pumpkin squares?"

I nodded, a little nervous at the sudden caution that had crept into his voice. But all he said was "Ah, I see."

And he gave me this look. It was full of nothing but pure _knowing_.

And with that, he walked off.

He knows. Andy knows I like you. I bet he fucking knew all along. Was it that obvious? When did he find out? A first I panicked, the last thing I needed was another person keeping me from you. But, the thing was, the look he gave me wasn't like the ones Joe gives me when I sit a little too close to you. It was the kind of look a parent might give you when you finally bring home a lover they approve of. Does that mean he thinks it could work?

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Next through the door was Joe.

"What the fuck have you- oh, food!" he said, making for the kitchen, if you can call it that.

"Hey, no, you can't-" I snatched the plate of pumpkin squares away, clutching it to me as if it was my first born child.

"Joe," called a voice from down the other end of the bus, "I've got popcorn and movies!"

Joe stopped dead, before looking down the end of the bus to the bunks and pretty much sprinting toward Andy's voice. "I call the beanbag!" He shouted back, disappearing behind the curtain.

I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief that he'd gone. I silently thanked Andy for knowing I wanted you to myself, I owed him big time for this. Next time I cook, everything will be vegan.

I paced around for a while, trying not to think about why you didn't come back with Joe, even though you said you would. Come on Pete, let's not develop any more trust issues.

Finally, _finally_ , you walked through the door, trucker hat pulled low over your eyes, as always, wearing way too many layers for this kind of weather. I jumped about a foot in the air, trying not to run towards you in my enthusiasm, and flapped around for a bit, trying to compose myself and failing.

"Hey Pete, are you okay?" Your eyes lit up when you saw me, a confused smile spreading over your face as you watched me try to stay calm and nearly knock all the plates off the side in the process.

"Mmhhm" was all I could muster. I didn't trust myself to say anything in case I squawked at you or something.

"You just seem a bit jumpy," you laughed, "what have you even been doing all day?" You made towards the kitchen and luckily I'd managed to regain the power of speech.

"Nothing much, really." _Except making you the perfect dinner during which you will fall in love with me and_ _give my life the purpose it sorely needs_. "You?"

"The record store was as good as Joe said it would be, got a load of old vinyl, and some new stuff." You held up a bag, before setting it down with the pile of shoes near the door. "I also- what is that smell?!" You exclaimed, holding your nose high in the air and following the scent.

"I, um, made some stuff." I said shyly, watching as you looked past me at the food.

"Pete," you said very quietly, "are those pumpkin squares?" You didn't wait for an answer, just bounded towards them, eyes wide and arms outstretched. You're just a toddler in disguise, aren't you?

"No no, you can't eat them yet. Soup first." I pointed towards the steaming pan on the stove, grinning at your enthusiasm.

"Aww, can't we just skip to pudding?"

"No, that would throw the balance of the universe, you know that, Patrick."

"Who cares about the universe when there's pumpkin squares involved?"

I laughed, but shook my head, moving towards you and steering you in the direction of the table, sitting you down like they do in really posh restaurants, and dashed back to get the soup.

"Hey, wait a second, let me go to the bathroom." You said, looking at your watch, before grinning at me and hurrying off.

I watched you leave, before taking the opportunity to catch some deep breaths and pour the soup, handling it as if it were liquid gold, checking that the temperature was just right, then guided the bowls toward the table and set them down, one for me, one for you. I would have poured us some wine, but given my...issues, I went with Ribena instead, which is basically the same, except without the hangovers and regrets. I sat there for a couple of minutes, excitement rising within me as I toyed with the thought that this could be it, my moment to win you over.

You came back and sat down, having changed pretty much all your clothes, replaced your trucker with a sleek black fedora, and maybe even put on some aftershave if my nose told me correctly. Damn. I tried not to stare too much, my mind racing as to why you'd gone to this effort. Did you see this as a date too? Maybe I should go freshen up. Were we going to do this, like, really properly?

"So what's the soup?" You asked, picking up your spoon and staring into the bowl in front of you.

"Why don't you try it and see?" Even I was surprised at how flirty that came out.

You gave me a cautious glance and stuck your spoon in, taking a big gulp of soup from it and looking up at me as you decided your verdict.

"Oh my god. This soup...it's amazing...it's like that one we had ages ago in that little place, d'you remember?" You slurped another spoonful, and I was so busy watching you I'd forgotten to start eating too. 

"Yeah, vaguely. So you like it?"

"Like it? Dude, I fucking love it, thank you!" You were pretty much attacking the bowl now, and I was debating whether or not to offer you a bigger spoon. You managed to spill at least three quarters of one spoonful onto the table in your haste, leaving little spots of soup everywhere.

"Try to get at least some of it in your mouth." I teased, laughing at you.

"Fuck off." you growled, but I could hear the smile in your voice.

"But seriously, dude, I quite like this tablecloth."

You looked up, frowning at my smirk. "Like you're so spotless." you protested, waving a hand towards me.

"Excuse me, I think you'll find my side of the table is cleaner than Andy's bloodstream, thank you very much!" I feigned offence, struggling to keep my face straight as I saw you giggling at me.

"Yeah, but your shirt isn't." You nodded towards my chest, and looking down, sure enough, there was a bright orange stain on my white T-shirt. Great. You were sitting there, still giggling, and attempting to eat soup at the same time, resulting in more spatters on the tablecloth. I couldn't help but giggle back.

"Bet pumpkin squares seem like the better option now," you spluttered, spraying me with orange in the process.

"Hey, you spat it everywhere, thanks a lot!" I gave up on eating and inspected the damage on my shirt.

"You're welcome," you grinned, dipping a finger in your bowl and flicking more soup at me, laughing as I flinched away from it.

"Okay, Stump, is that how you wanna play it?"

"You bet your ass it is, Wentz."

And with that, the soup war started. Suddenly there were little blobs flying all over the place, and all I could hear was the sound of our laughs weaving together like wind chimes, occasionally stifled by us both stealing quick mouthfuls of the thick orange liquid between attacks. Pretty soon, my shirt was flecked all over with the stuff, as was the table cloth, my face and your jacket. We leant back, laughing like idiots. It doesn't seem so funny, looking back, but to us it was the pinnacle of entertainment.

We slowly calmed down, looking around at the mess we'd made.

"Joe is gonna kill you." I said, smirking at you as I wiped soup off my face.

"Me? You were the one who decided to make bright orange coloured soup, it'll be your head he uses as a hood ornament." You shot back, a sly smile pulling at your lips.

"No, no, you instigated the soup fight, you're the criminal!"

"But you provided the ammunition."

I nodded, you had a point. Plus, I was too busy gazing at your eyes, all lit up from laughter, to think of a good comeback. God, you're beautiful.

You stopped smiling and stared back at me, a look of questioning dancing behind your expression, and something else, too. Curiosity?

You leant forward, putting your elbows on the table, still looking at me. I did the same. Suddenly our faces were only inches apart. I could feel your hot breath ghost across my skin, and flicked my gaze down to your lips, plump and delicious, just begging to be kissed. I forgot all the plans I'd made before, to check if you maybe felt the same, to read your body language and facial expressions. Your colourful eyes locked upon me and your perfect mouth hovering inches from mine were all the proof I needed.

Then there was a knock at the door.

You turned away from me, taking the warmth of your breath with you. No. No no no, not now. Please god not now.

You jumped up, looking anxious, grabbing a cloth and wiping the soup from your face and jacket, before taking a deep breath and smoothing down your clothes. You started walking towards the door. No. No, get back here, you were supposed to kiss me, that's what should have happened, we were so close, please come back, you couldn't just leave me here, pouting at thin air. Please. Not again.

You opened the door. I slowly stood up to see who it was I needed to punch.

A girl walked in. You hugged her. Then you kissed her. My insides turned to lead and dropped into my feet.

Not again. Not another one. I can't take another one.

I stood there, staring at you and her, her lips pressed lightly against yours. Where mine should have been.

I realised you were talking to me, and that I'd been consumed by silence for the last thirty seconds.

"What?" I said, unable to focus on anything.

"I was just saying, this is Charlotte. You know, the daughter of our manager?" You grinned at me, encouraging me with your eyes. Oh. _Oh._ I'd forgotten about that.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much!" She said brightly, moving towards me and holding out a hand.

I stared at it for a bit, then looked up at her. She was pretty. She had bright red hair and a nose piercing, and was wearing black jeans and a leather jacket.

"Oh." I said stupidly, giving her a weak handshake. "I'd forgotten you were coming."

"Yeah, well I'm sorry for intruding. I just took a gap year, and had no idea what to do with it, so dad suggested meeting up with him for the last bit of the tour. And I wasn't about to say no to that, I mean, you're fucking rockstars!"

I nodded blindly at her, then turned my eyes to you, hovering behind her.

"So...You two seem close." I said flatly, my gaze flicking between you and the girl who's nose piercing I would quite like to rip out.

"Um..." You looked at the ground, knotting your fingers together.

"Haha, yeah, dad thought it would be best if I actually knew some of you guys before I came and lived with you. So me and Patrick have been texting and stuff for like...what, a couple months?" She looked towards you for an answer but you just shrugged, looking at me occasionally.

"What so...just texting, or...?"

"Yeah, and some skyping too. And we just kinda clicked, so I guess up 'till now we've been internet lovers." She smiled at you, and you flashed a small grin back. _Lovers._ Fucking _lovers._ Are you kidding me?

And then I realised. That's why you were all dressed up. Not for me. For _her_.

I should have known, when you started checking your phone more than usual. You never answer texts. But you obviously answered hers.

The atmosphere had sunk into awkward, and stayed there, lying dead on the floor along with my smile, which you'd shot down yourself.

"Okay, well, I'll go say hi to dad and get the rest of my stuff. Am I staying here, or with him? I don't mind either way, whichever's easiest. I don't want to be a burden." And with that, she disappeared out the door again, walking off into the early evening haze.

I turned my gaze on you. Your smile faltered, guilt spreading across your face.

"Is that Charlotte? Is she here?" A voice called from the other end of the bus. Joe and Andy had emerged from their movie marathon and were walking towards us. I shot a glare at them too.

"Yes, she is." I said, lacing my words with as much malice as I could muster.

"Where is she?" Andy questioned, looking around. Then he caught the look I was giving you. "What's going on?" He said, caution crept into his and Joe's expressions.

I felt the anger boiling within me. "Why don't you ask Patrick?"

Their eyes turned on you. "I...um...I didn't think it would be a problem...she seems so nice...we're not...I mean...nothing's _happened_ or anyth-"

"Patrick has been having phone sex with _Charlotte._ " I stated, crossing my arms.

"What? I thought she'd only just arrived?" Andy said, peering out the door as if she might miraculously appear and clear up the situation.

"She has, but _apparently_ her and Patrick are _'_ _lovers_ _'_ now." I spat, imitating her words. "They've been texting for months. Behind our backs." I turned to Joe and Andy, waiting for them to react.

"Oh." Joe said.

"Oh?" I repeated, " _oh?_ Is that it? All you can say is _oh_?"

"Well...yeah, I guess you should have said something Patrick. I mean, we only knew what her dad told us about her, it would have been nice to have found out a bit more, I guess."

You nodded apologetically, looking at each of us with scared eyes. Fucking coward.

"But other than that," Joe continued, "I don't see what the issue is. Patrick can do what he likes, he doesn't belong to you." As he said it, he shot me a smirk. It was barely visible, but it went through me like a knife.

"I don't believe this. You guys didn't even want her here! We all talked about how weird it was going to be! It's us, and the crew, that's always how it is. _People can't just join in_ , you said, _it's only because of her dad that she's even allowed here_! How can you be okay with this?" I was shouting now, and you guys were backing away from me, little by little.

Andy shrugged. Pity swam in his eyes, because he knew why I was so angry. Because I still don't have you.

"Alright, fine!" I turned to you, rage radiating off me as I moved towards you. "Where the fuck is she gonna sleep?"

"In my bunk." you mumbled, but I heard you.

"Are you kidding? I can't sleep anyway, let alone with you two fucking every single goddamn night!"

"No, no, not with me, I'll be on the sofa bed."

My relief only lasted for a few seconds before I blew up again.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?! You're supposed to be my fucking best friend, but you never tell me anything! I thought you were still hung up on your last whore!"

Your eyes widened at my words. I thought you were going to cry, but instead you stuck your chin out and shouted back. "This is why I didn't tell you! I knew you'd be a dick about it, so I kept my mouth shut! I knew you'd taunt me like you did when I was with Emma, I knew you'd throw everything back in my face!"

That stung.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes, and blinked them back furiously. "But you could have...I wouldn't have...I made you pumpkin squares...Oh just fuck off!" I shouted, my voice shaking.

 I turned by back on you and ran back to the bunks, drawing the curtain and throwing myself down onto my soft duvet. I don't think I've ever cried like that before. I kicked at the covers, curling my hands into fists around the sheets, screaming into the pillow before the violent sobs shivered through me. I'd lost you again. And now I'd lost myself, too.

I can't take it anymore. I tried so hard. I got so close. But it wasn't enough. Nothing I do is ever enough.

I cried for hours until a fitful slumber overtook me.

From Pete


	20. Chapter 20

Dear Patrick,

Okay, okay. Just...let me get my head around this one.

So when I found out about that Charlotte girl (who is still here, everyday, after every show, every morning, every evening she's here oh my god I want to tear my own hair out) I cried. Like, a lot. Andy and Joe knew why. I'm not sure if you did. For a couple of days after, I was avoiding you. You still ate the fucking pumpkin squares though, pig.

I was in a bad place. Hopes being ripped apart, love of my life kissing someone else every goddamn hour of every goddamn day (which still feels like being shot, by the way, thanks), pretty much given up for good, yada yada yada. Heard it all before.

The days were bad, and the nights were worse.

I know I should be heartbroken, and I think I was, for a bit, but it's been three weeks since the whole date-night-nearly-kissing-you-before-your-annoying-ass-girlfriend-showed-up fiasco, the tour's nearly over, and I feel better now. After a few nights of drinking until somebody stopped me, and being unable to look you in the eye, something, uh, happened.

Now the nights aren't so bad.

Look, I know we've been here before, and I know I'm the king of getting my hopes up, and I know that you don't feel the same blah blah blah, but at this precise moment I don't really care if you don't feel the same, because I feel fucking great.

 

So basically, after _she_ turned up, we hadn't really had a proper conversation. You knew I was pissed, you thought it was mainly because you didn't tell me about you and her, and I went along with that.

But one morning, I sat down to eat breakfast (fruit loops, sue me), and was busy wallowing in my own self-pity, when you stumbled into the kitchen area. You'd been sleeping on the sofa for a few nights, and you did not seem to be enjoying it very much, because it meant that in the mornings we'd all wake you up in imaginative ways. But today, you'd got up of your own accord. Your hair was all over the place, and there were still pillow creases in your face. You are really not a morning person.

Everyone else was still asleep, so it was just me and you. You smiled weakly as you came and sat down opposite me, rubbing your eyes and yawning in the most frustratingly adorable way. You mumbled something that was probably meant to be _good_ _morning_ , but came out more like _ghhmrng._ I laughed involuntarily, quickly frowning and looking back down at my breakfast.

I wasn't speaking to you, I'd made that clear to myself.

"Pete," you said abruptly, causing me to jump and stare at you. You looked much more awake now than you had ten seconds ago. "I'm sorry."

Okay, so where did that come from? You'd been acting like this whole thing had nothing to do with you for the past few days, and now you were sorry. I made a little haughty huff noise at you.

"Seriously, Pete, I'm so sorry. I should have told you. You're right, we're best friends, we should share everything." You said, face filled with regret. But there was a little hint of something else in your eyes.

"M'kay." I said back. You weren't getting off that fucking easily.

"No, Pete, please, listen. _We should tell each other everything._ " There was an edge to your voice now, the type of edge someone has when hinting what they want for Christmas.

I looked at you, confused and annoyed. You looked right back, expectation dancing behind your eyes.

"Alright, Patrick, what's this about?" I growled, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

You sighed a little, looking kinda scared. But your puppy dog eyes didn't fool me. At least, not right at that moment.

"I...um...well, you...you said...when Charlotte arrived, that...um..." You dithered. I hate it when you do that.

"Spit it out, Patrick, what the fuck did I say?"

Your gaze locked with mine, and it was full of worry.

"Pete, why can't you sleep?"

That caught me off guard.

When the fuck had I said that? I'd never told anyone about that, never even explained it fully in one of these stupid letters. Then I remembered my own words, shouted into your face, _I can't sleep anyway, let alone with you two fucking every single goddamn night._ You picked up on that? Wow.

I debated whether to get up and storm off, or get up, shout at you and then storm off, or just shout at you. But then, I decided to do something very un-Pete, and tell the actual truth. I guess maybe part of me was glad that someone else knew.

"I, um...Well, I sometimes get these dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"I dunno, like night terrors I guess." I bowed my head. I could practically hear the psychiatrists running towards me.

"How often?"

Again, I thought about lying. _Not at all anymore_ , or _haven't had one in a while._ But I just couldn't. Not when every single night I wake up, covered in sweat, shaking like a fucking leaf and sobbing my goddamn eyes out. No more lies.

"Every night."

Your eyes widened. There was stunned silence, and I could see your sleepy brain trying to work out what the fuck to say.

You blew out a slow breath. "Jeez, Pete...have you told anyone?"

"Just you." I shrugged, acting as if I didn't dread the nights.

"There's gotta be something I can do. Have you tried sleeping pills? Or...or yoga or something?"

I burst out laughing, but the sound was poisoned with bitterness. You thought you could help me. Yoga? Are you kidding, that counts as exercise and I'm not wearing those stupid pants. And sleeping pills, we all know that me and drugs don't mix. Well, we do mix, and that's just the problem.

"You can't help."

You chewed on your lip. "No, Pete, you can't keep going like this, it's not healthy!"

"I can and I will. Who needs sleep when there's coffee in the world?" I smiled again. Fake.

You huffed in frustration, "I will help. I promise."

"Go back to bed, Patrick."

"No." You shot back, but it was undermined by the fact that as soon as you'd finished the word, you yawned.

"Patrick, go. You're not built for being up this early."

You nodded in defeat, and shuffled back down the bus.

I thought that'd be the end of it.

 

The day went, we played a show, we showered, we ditched the after-party, it was crappy anyway, we got back on the bus, we went to sleep.

Or at least, everyone else did.

As usual, I'd fallen into a reluctant slumber, only to find myself enclosed in that darkness again. The relentless oblivion that sticks its hands down your throat and slowly, painfully, drags the life out of you, leaving you all but dead, pale and limp on the floor and unable to feel anything but the emptiness. And even though I'd experienced it countless times before, the pain was still just as potent, the fear just as consuming.

But this time, there was something different. I felt hands on me, not cold and predatory, but warm and gentle, and heard something, a voice that pulled me from the void.

"Pete!"

I awoke, sitting up and thrashing around in the prison of my sheets, feeling the sweat and feeling the shakes coursing through me. Then the hands again. They stopped me thrashing.

I breathed heavily, loudly, sobs spouting through my lips as I blinked at the darkness.

Then I felt arms around me, steadying my spinning brain. And I knew it was you.

I didn't think about why. I just ran away from the nightmare and focussed upon your warmth. You shushed in my ear lightly, hugging me tighter. I clung to your shirt, burying myself in your chest as I continued to cry violently. It was strange to have someone to catch my tears, usually I just cried alone. I felt your steady breaths and tried to match mine to them, erratic exhales slowing to short huffs. My wild eyes drooped shut, and gradually, carefully, I calmed down. You didn't move.

Eventually, I started to think straight again. _Just a dream, just a dream._

I pulled away from you, collapsing back down onto my pillow, looking up at your figure in the darkness. You reminded me of my mum when she used to sit by and read me bedtime stories.

I smiled at you. You smiled back.

You took my shivery hand and gave it a squeeze, indicating something like a _well done_.

You stood up, turning towards the door.

Impulsively, I grabbed your hand, pulling you back towards me.

"Stay."

It was barely a whisper, but you heard.

You came back to me. With your adorable batman pyjamas on, and your hair all fluffy from probably sitting up all night with your headphones instead of sleeping like every other sane person would, you tentatively climbed into bed beside me.

You pulled the duvet up and around us both, facing up toward the bunk in which Charlotte was sleeping. But it was me you put your arms around.

I'd dropped some boundaries due to my confused sleepy state, and evidently so had you, because you didn't protest as I snuggled into you, wrapping my hands around your soft middle and pulling you closer to me, cuddling you like a teddy bear. Tears clung to my face, but they were all that remained of the nightmare. It was gone. _This_ was real. You and me, together, faces less than an inch apart. Nothing could hurt me while I was here with you. My nose brushed against one of your sideburns, and I resisted the urge to giggle. You rubbed slow circles into my back until I fell into a proper, normal person sleep, dreamless and perfect. That night didn't turn out to be so bad after all.

Even though in the morning, you were gone, even though we never spoke about the night, even though the only proof I had that you were ever in my bed was the lack of dark circles under my eyes for the first time in months, I felt so good.

 

I had not expected it to become a regular thing.

The next night was the same.

I started thrashing around in my sleep, you shook me out of the darkness, you held me 'till I calmed down. Except this time, I didn't have to ask you to stay. You slid between my sheets and we fell asleep in each others' arms.

And the next.

Until, after a week or so, I didn't even bother going to sleep at all. Now we just wait until everyone else had gone to bed, and then snuggle down ourselves. To be honest, we've had to be extremely careful. I mean, if Charlotte finds out, you're dead, and if Joe finds out, I'm dead. But you always manage to creep back to your own bed on the couch before anyone else gets up. I just hope no-one decides to go for a midnight stroll. But it's worth the risk. We can probably come up with some excuse. I mean, it's not like we're fucking each other. More's the pity. But that first night when I waited up for you to come join me, that was the first time in a long time that I'd slept without having any nightmares at all. It was fucking amazing.

I feel so safe wrapped up in your arms, I no longer fear the darkness if you're there to face it with me.

You've fucking cured me. I didn't think anyone could do that.

So yeah. That's what's been happening for the last couple weeks. I tried to stay mad at you for the whole secret-girlfriend thing, but it's difficult seeing as you're so goddamn cute all the time. And to be perfectly honest, she's been really great. I thought she'd get in the way, make extra work for everyone, but she mostly keeps to herself and she definitely pulls her weight. If I could overlook the fact that she gets to kiss you and I don't, maybe I could like her. But there's nothing I can do about that.

I'm just happy with things, I guess. I don't have you, and never will, but I have your company, and maybe that's enough. It's not exactly what I want, but it's more than I deserve, so for now, I'm alright. I'm just trying not to think about what's going to happen when we get back to Chicago and I have to return to an empty house.

But thank you. I can sleep.

From Pete  


	21. Chapter 21

Dear Patrick,

I'm not getting my hopes up. Let me just make that absolutely clear.

You broke up with her.

I'm not happy about it, I promise.

It's the last day on this damn bus, we're heading back to Chicago. Should be there by the end of the day.

You broke up with her.

The last show was amazing, everyone was screaming including me and it just felt like the whole place was one massive family, united not by blood but by music. We came off stage, drenched in sweat, and Joe cracked open a bottle of champagne he'd hidden in his dressing room and toasted to _the best concert ever performed anywhere by anyone._ Because, let's face it, it was.

And also you broke up with her.

Okay okay, so I'm a little mixed up at the moment, I just don't know what to feel, because I want to go home, but I love being on tour, I want to get off the bus and have more than a few square metres to myself, but I don't want to be alone, I want to sleep in a proper bed for the first time in months but I don't want to sleep at all if it isn't in your arms.

Also, Charlotte kinda shook me up.

 

We were on the motorway, scattered about the bus doing various things, gathering our things together mostly. I had no idea where you were, I was up the front of the bus with too-loud music blaring into my ears, unaware of everything going on around me.

And then she came and sat next to me. I didn't even notice at first, but she shifted around a bit and nudged my arm by accident. I looked up and saw her, a bit pissed that she brought me out of my day dream, which had _not_ been about you, and confused as to why she was even here. She didn't like me, why was she now sitting next to me?

Reluctantly, I paused my music and took my headphones off, looking at her with irritated expectation. Anyone who interrupts my jamming sessions better have a fucking good excuse.

"Patrick and I broke up."

I'm listening.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, ignoring the little leap my heart did.

"Uh...I'm sorry." I said pathetically, not really knowing how to react. She didn't look really upset, or really angry, so I wasn't sure why she had told me. I guess I'm glad she did though.

"Nah, don't be, to be honest I...I know it sounds horrible, but I think it was going that way anyway." She sighed. Right, so, disappointed, deflated, but not heartbroken.

"What happened?" I asked, deciding not to question this and just go with it.

"Um...I guess we just didn't have that...that spark, y'know?" She fiddled with a loose thread in her jeans, "And also...I kinda get the feeling he likes someone else." She looked me straight in the eye. I pretended to misunderstand what she was implying.

"Oh. So, uh, who do you think he likes?"

She laughed. "Well, I don't know for certain. But I have a vague idea." And she gave me that look again. "And to be honest, I think him and the person he likes would be really cute together." I felt a tingle run across my skin.

"Oh okay. Well, at least you ended on good terms."

"Yeah. I mean, dad already made it clear not to start fights with any of the band members, seeing as it could put him out of a job. So a messy breakup wouldn't have helped anything. Plus, I think, I think we knew from the start that it wasn't really gonna go anywhere. Patrick's a great guy, I would have loved to learn to love him, but...I think we're better off just staying friends. So we agreed to break it off."

Holy shit, we were into proper emotional relationship stuff. She should have talked to someone else if she wanted advice or whatever, unless she wants tips on getting wasted, getting laid and getting home to a cold, empty house at unholy hours of the day. Because we all know I'm great at that.

"But anyway," she continued, "I hope he finds someone. Or someone finds him." Her eyes were trained on me as she spoke. "Because, I think there's someone out there who can make him very happy. And, if they were listening, then I'd like to tell them that he's all theirs.'"

And with that, she got up and walked back down the bus.

 

So.

What to make of that.

Nothing. I'm not going to make anything of it. I'm just going to go home, unpack my stuff, and not think about it. Because if I do I'll start hoping. And hope is just a ready-mix for disappointment.

I'll act casual. _Oh, hey, Patrick, sorry to hear about you and Charlotte._ Yeah, that's fine. Okay.

We'll be home soon. I'll finish this letter, and start getting my things together.

But you broke up with her.

From Pete


	22. Chapter 22

Dear Patrick,

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Oh my fucking god.

Okay, I need to calm down so I can write this properly.

Shit.

Right. So.

After having a couple days' down time when we got back from tour, we decided to do our usual and go for a meal, only this time, we couldn't be bothered to actually go outside so, at my suggestion, we ordered pizza.

We were at Joe's place, because he was the only one who'd managed to unpack properly. Plus, it's always so tidy, it almost makes me want to go home and clean. Almost.

Anyway, we all turned up and piled in, not caring that the couch was too small for all of us plus the mass of blankets and duvets, or that you could hardly see the TV because of said blankets and duvets. We'd picked out a bunch of movies, and Joe had even got a bottle of his famous crappy champagne for us to pretend to drink. It crossed my mind that as responsible adults we should be sitting round a table playing cards and drinking scotch whilst talking about our careers, but hell, we couldn't give less shits if we tried.

We got two massive bowls of Doritos and shared them out, one for you and me, one for Joe and Andy. You love Doritos. Instead of eating them like a normal person, you get one chip and hold it on the very corner, then lick all of the powdery stuff off it, before shoving the rest of it into your mouth and then licking your fingers. I feel like I should find it gross, but then I also feel like I want to buy you a huge bag of them just to watch you do it again. Also, I realised I'd quite like to be a Dorito.

No, stop getting sidetracked.

We watched Andy's choice of movie first, Spider-Man 2, because it had to be Marvel. You spent the whole time curled right up close to me, flinching at the jump scares and shuddering at any scene which involved jumping from a height. I watched Joe carefully; he was engrossed in the film, so I figured I could get away with putting an arm around you, you know, to stop you being scared. You rested your head on my shoulder. You looked so damn pretty, the light of the TV dancing on your features and glowing in your eyes.

A couple of times, I swear I caught you staring at me.

 

"So, pizza?" Andy said, once the movie was over. He peeled himself off the sofa and stretched, and Joe followed suit. They both looked back at us, cuddled up at the end of the couch, and I saw Joe's eyes narrow the way they always do when he's pissed at me. I quickly shoved you off of me, flexing my shoulders as if glad to be rid of you. It's not like I needed your warmth anyway. Ha, who am I kidding.

But Joe seemed satisfied; his expression softened. "Yeah. Pizza."

"Okay then, me and Joe will go get it, the shop's only down the road." Andy announced, grabbing Joe by the elbow and dragging him towards the door.

"Hey- you do know they deliver it, right? I can just order it? Even the vegan ones? Andy get the hell off me, we don't need to-" Joe's protests were cut off by Andy shoving him out the door, shutting it quickly. He turned back to you and me, sitting there on the couch looking very confused.

"Ten minutes is the most I can get you." He spoke quickly and urgently, as if he was in a spy movie, "Tell him. Just tell him, please." He looked at you as he said it, before opening the door again, which Joe had been pummelling on. "Oh hey Joe, sorry about that, must've shut you out by mistake. Let's go get pizza, I'll pay."

And with that, he forced an annoyed and bewildered Joe out the door and slammed it behind him.

What.

 

I looked at you.

What the hell did you have to tell me? I thought I was the one with all the secrets.

You had shuffled down the other end of the sofa, and were fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. I coughed slightly, and you glanced up at me. You looked absolutely terrified.

Why? Why would you be scared? Were you scared of me? What the hell was Andy playing at?

"Uh...Patrick, what's up?" I asked, as lightly as possible.

You chewed on your lip, eyes darting all over the place as if you were looking for the nearest escape route.

"You know you can tell me anything." I said, and I meant it. As long as 'anything' doesn't involve any more goddamned girlfriends.

My words hung in the air between us, before finally, you spoke. "I...um...I guess I..." Your voice sank to a whisper, as if what you were about to say would hurt your ears otherwise. "I think I might like guys."

That took a while to sink in.

Oh. Oh god. Did you just...? Oh god.

I felt my heart flutter. I tried my utmost not to let my face spread into one huge grin. Keep it together, don't get excited. Keep. It. Together.

"Oh, um, okay, um, when did you...how did you...?" I trailed off to stop the words spilling into smiles.

You pulled your knees up to your chest. "I guess...I guess I figured I liked girls, I think I still do, but...it was...no, I can't tell you this, I can't..." You cut yourself off by putting your forehead to your knees, refusing to look at me. My heart was pumping so loud I swear to god Andy and Joe could probably hear it from the pizza place.

I shuffled a bit closer to you, stretching out an arm. I'd intended to give you a comforting shoulder-squeeze, but misjudged the distance and ended up just rubbing one of your feet instead. You wriggled your toes at me, and I heard a giggle.

I moved my fingers faster, watching your legs squirm, and soon the soft chimes of reluctant laughter filled the otherwise silent room. Finally, after at least a minute of relentless tickling, you looked up, and I stopped.

"Now, what is it that you can't tell me?"

Your laughter disappeared, and we were plunged into anxious silence once again.

"You'll hate me." You whispered.

"I could never hate you, Patrick. You're my best friend. I told you about the nightmares, now you tell me what's bothering _you_ for once."

You sighed. I wasn't gonna give in, and you knew it.

Then you said probably one of the best things I've ever heard.

"I realised I liked guys when I realised I liked you."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I blinked at you.

Was this happening? Or was I dreaming again?

You hugged your knees to your chest, hiding your face in your arms, completely oblivious to the fact that I was mentally throwing confetti everywhere and popping champagne corks.

"I...I'm sorry, I've really tried to stop, but ever since we started to share a bed I just-"

"Can I kiss you?" I interrupted out of nowhere. Wow, where did that come from? I didn't know I had it in me. I'd been wanting to ask that question for four fucking years. This is it.

Your head snapped up, alarm and confusion filling your face. "Wha...What?" You stuttered. But I wasn't going to let you go again.

"Please?" I begged, shuffling closer to you so that my knees brushed against yours.

"But I...I thought you wouldn't-"

"Patrick, I like guys too. And by guys I mean you." I felt the weight of long-kept secrets lift from my shoulders.

"You like me too?" You peeked out at me from behind your hunched-up knees, a shadow of a smile crossing your face.

Like, love, grossly infatuated with. Whatever. But we'll go with _like_ for now. I nodded shyly, smiling not nearly as widely as I wanted to be at that moment.

You grinned, your face illuminated in the low light coming from the TV, the movie credits paused and the screen casting a grey glow over the room.

"So," I said, shuffling even closer to you, "can I kiss you?"

You fidgeted a little, now sitting cross-legged on the couch, before looking at me carefully. A nervous smile flickered on your face, and you nodded slowly.

I leaned in. Your eyes fluttered shut as I gently pressed my lips to yours, feeling their warmth, their plump curves. And, after a few moments, I felt something I never thought I'd feel: You started to kiss back.

Fireworks went off in my head and I swear to god I could hear all my past selves cheering. I was kissing you. _I was kissing you._

I brought my hand up and cupped your cheek, tracing feathery circles with my thumb, our lips moving in harmony as if they were made for each other. I ran my tongue along the seam of your mouth, asking, begging for entrance. At first I thought you might pull away, but instead, you placed a hand on the back of my neck, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss.

It was so much better than I'd ever imagined it to be.

We kissed for a few moments more, gentle and cautious, until you pulled away, sighing shortly and blinking a few times. I felt the cool air against my now bare lips and opened my eyes, my stomach doing back-flips and my heart in my throat.

You looked at me with those big beautiful eyes, and flashed a small smile. The dim light meant that I couldn't make out colours very well, but I knew that your cheeks were bright red.

"Wow." You breathed. _Yep, that pretty much sums up my feelings too,_ I thought, still not really believing what had just happened. "I've never kissed a guy before. And you're...a really really good kisser."

Now it was my turn to blush. Patrick Stump just said I'm a good kisser. Never thought I'd hear that.

"You wanna do it again?" I shrugged, giving you a small smile.

You didn't even answer, just captured my lips in yours once again, but more confidently this time. I placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pressed you into the back of the couch, tucking my legs underneath me so that I could get even closer to you. You wrapped your arms around my neck and I clutched the back of your head, slowly running my fingers through your soft hair in time with our lips. Every so often, you'd let out a little gasp of air, sending shivers through me, letting me know that this was actually happening.

We stayed there, locked in the kiss for possibly the best few minutes of my life, the room filled with nothing but hot breaths and slick tongues.

Then Joe walked in.

Holy mother of crap.

 

I shoved you away from me, scrambling back down the other end of the couch and trying not to think about the hurt that had crossed your face. But Joe had already seen. He stopped in the doorway, eyes flicking between you and me and hands slowly curling into fists.

"You son of a-" He was cut off by his own lunge towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me violently. I shut my eyes tight as he started to shout. "What the hell did you do to him you piece of shit?! You promised, you fucking promised me you wouldn't touch him, you-"

"Joe, what are you doing, man, get off him!" Andy yelled from behind, his arms stacked with pizzas.

"He promised he wouldn't lay a finger on Patrick, I made him promise, and now you're fucking kissing him right in front of me!" He shook me harder, as if trying to exorcise a demon.

"I'm sorry, it just happened, I didn't mean to-" I started, trying to apologise for something I wasn't remotely sorry for. But I was cut off by the sudden lack of hands on me, and opened my eyes to see you wrestling Joe away from me.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" You yelled. We all looked at you, bewildered; you weren't usually one for shouting. "What the hell are you talking about, _promises,_ what promises?"

Joe took a step back from you, sighing as he gave in. "I...I made him promise not to act on his feelings for you."

"Why?" You barked, arms crossed.

"Because I thought he'd end up hurting you. I didn't want you to get hurt." Your expression softened a little, but you didn't budge.

"Thanks for looking out for me. But, the thing is, you don't own me and neither does he. He didn't manipulate me, he didn't take advantage of me, he asked me straight out what I wanted and I told him. I'll make my own choices, and if they hurt me, then that's my problem. And right now, I choose Pete." You sat down and linked your arm with mine, looking up at Joe defiantly. Wow.

We all just kinda froze, dumb-struck by your short but mic-drop worthy speech. Andy slowly put down the pizzas and plopped onto the sofa. All of us looked at Joe expectantly.

His eyes moved slowly between you and me, lingering on our entwined arms, before he slowly nodded, flexing his jaw and looking up at the ceiling.

"Fine. _Fine._ It's your goddamned funeral. Just no touching, kissing or sex-talk when I'm around, and no fucking anywhere within a mile of me or my house. Understand?"

I nearly laughed until I realised that he was being deadly serious. We both nodded.

He sat down on the couch, folding his arms and looking utterly disapproving of the whole situation. He turned to Andy and hissed "I can't believe you knew about this. You're as bad as they are."

Andy just laughed.

It only just occurred to me that I owe most of this to him. I gotta be nicer to him from now on.

 

We sat through the rest of films, stuffing ourselves with pizza and what was left of the Doritos. About halfway through Ghostbusters, I felt under the blankets until I found your hand. I threaded our fingers together, giving them a light squeeze without taking my eyes off the film. You snuggled closer to me, resting your head on my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to kiss you all over.

As evenings go, it was pretty damn perfect. And it was real.

 

We all gradually left Joe's house, munching on leftover pizza and grunting sleepy goodbyes. I had planned to leave with you, walk you to your car and stuff, maybe even kiss you again, but I had a feeling that even though Joe had said he was okay with this, he would not hesitate to obliterate me if I so much as touched you on his territory. So instead, you wandered out of the apartment with Andy, stealing a small smile and a lingering glance at me as you did so.

I helped clear away the pizza boxes and sort out the sofa, I know how Joe gets if things aren't tidy, then made my own way towards the door. Butterflies still danced in my stomach and the taste of your lips still clung to my tongue. It felt _amazing._

I was just about to close the door behind me when I heard Joe call out one last line.

"It won't end well."

I laughed, Joe can really hold a grudge.

But the thing was, there was no humour in his voice, no threat, no anger. Just honesty, clear as day.

I shook it off.

 

The drive home consisted mostly of me trying to relive that night moment by moment, remembering everything from the colour of your shirt to the feel of your skin as it grazed mine. I swear I nearly crashed like a billion times just from smiling so hard. I fucking kissed you. I did it. Finally.

Just before I got to my block, I slowed down, thinking for a moment about what the hell I should do next. Do I kiss you when I see you again? Do I act like we're boyfriends? Or do I just let you set the pace and go with it?

No. I'm not leaving any of this up to chance.

I turned around, driving away from my house and towards yours, which was only a couple blocks away.

I pulled over outside your building, jumping out of the car and running towards it. I felt like I was in a Bond movie as I raced up the stairs, not caring that they were metal and made a sound like a gong every time I stepped on one of them. You don't like your neighbours anyway, who cares if I woke them up?

Skidding to a halt outside your place, I leant against the wall for a few seconds, breathing heavily. I was so pumped up with electricity, so wildly excited about the fact that I fucking kissed you and you fucking kissed back that I hadn't thought about how wrong this could go. You could easily just brush this off as a one-time thing, you could tell me you didn't want anything serious, you could change your mind entirely and be disgusted at the thought of kissing me again. The worries sliced through my elation, leaving it in tatters.

But it didn't matter. How nervous I was, how rejected I could be, none of it mattered. I was here and I was ready, and I didn't know how long it would be before I felt like this again. Fuck it.

I knocked on your door.

Shitshitshitshit.

You opened it, peering out at me with surprise and confusion. Was it good surprise or bad surprise? Oh please god let it be good surprise.

"Hey Pete, what are you- are you okay?" You exclaimed, seeing me run a shaking hand through my hair and breathe heavily.

I looked up at you, trying to smile in the least creepy way I could. "I...um... just wondered, you know, after...after..." I stuttered. I could almost feel the stupid emanating from me. Why do I have to fuck up everything?

You gave me a confused smile, opening the door fully and revealing your oversized pyjamas and messed up hair. I cursed you for looking so pretty at the exact moment I needed to focus. You can just take your cuteness and leave now, please. Did you know your nose is a work of art?

"Pete?" You snapped your fingers in front of my face, laughing slightly.

"Oh! Yes, right...yeah. Okay. I...I just wondered if, maybe, I mean you don't have to or anything, only if you want to, but if you don't that's fine, I just wondered if possibly you might maybe want to...to go on a date, with me, at...at some point?" I asked, looking at the floor. I asked you. I fucking asked you. It was messed up and it was pathetic, but I asked you all the same. Now all that was left was the answer.

You giggled. Oh shit, you were laughing at me. This was a stupid idea. You didn't want to be with me, that kiss meant nothing to you, this was all some stupid April Fool's and at any moment Joe would jump out and laugh his head off.

"Sure!"

Wait what. Did you just say yes?

I looked up quickly, and you could obviously see the shock in my eyes because you started laughing harder.

"Really?" I exclaimed in disbelief, watching your face split into more giggle-strewn smiles.

"You're a such a moron, of course I'll go on a date with you!"

The knot in my stomach loosened and I felt myself grin at you. You grinned back. The way your eyes light up when you smile like that is a wonder of nature. And wow...your lips are fucking gorgeous.

I didn't realise I'd been silent for an uncomfortably long time until I saw a blush creep into your cheeks. I'd been staring at your lips for way too long.

"Um...so when are you free?" I said, breaking the silence and trying to ignore the heat building up between us. I tore my gaze away from you, because if I looked at your mouth again I knew I wouldn't be able to stop.

"Uh, tomorrow night actually I think. Or is that too soon? That's too soon, you don't want to-" You mumbled, and if you're anything like me you were probably worrying about seeming too eager. You're cute when you're nervous.

"Tomorrow night sounds perfect." I said, cheesy but wonderfully true. "I'll pick you up at like, six?"

"Oh you don't have to do that, I can get-"

"Yes I do. You're my date and I'm your gentleman, so your carriage will await at precisely six o'clock."

"Okay." You giggled again, covering your mouth with your hand and blushing like crazy. Fucking hell, what are you trying to do to me?

"Well, I'll, erm, see you then, then," I said, a little awkwardly as I'm not the most experienced at the whole date thing. And also I was very distracted by your face.

"Bye." You said shyly, smiling at me one last time before you pushed the door shut.

I sighed. I actually did it. I had a date with Patrick, the boy I'd fucking cried over for days on end, the boy who endlessly yet unknowingly broke my heart over and over. Oh my god.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I jumped about three foot off the ground, punching the air and laughing like a maniac. Happiness flooded through me as the events of the night sunk in, your eyes, your laugh, your goddamned lips. I'd spent years dreaming about those lips and finally, I'd claimed them. I wanted to relive everything straight away, just to check it had actually happened.

This feeling was so weird. I'd spent so much time being sad, I'd forgotten how good happiness is. Because that's what it was. Pure, unchained, do-a-little-dance-outside-your-door happiness, and it was fucking awesome.

 

I still feel it now, sitting back at my house, alone but not lonely, for once. I bounced around the kitchen for at least half and hour before calming down enough to actually write this. Because I have to write it down. That way I have proof. There's no way I'm letting this fade into memory.

I'm going on a date. I feel like a toddler pumped full of sugar. Oh, and did I mention that that date is with you? I've never been this proud of myself. I asked you if I could kiss you and asked you out all on the same night. If only I could have done that four years ago, I could have saved myself a suicide. But let's not think about that. Let's think about what's happening _now._

Should I book a restaurant? Of course I should. And not just a pizza place, a proper posh restaurant that serves stuff with names I can't pronounce. And the menus are on nice paper with those gold foil borders on them. Oh oh and they show you the wine bottle before they give it to you and then you nod and then they pour a little bit into a glass and you smell it then have a sip then swill it round your mouth a bit then nod again and they pour the rest of it out. Yeah, we'll go to one of _those_ restaurants.

Maybe I'll get to kiss you again.

Maybe it'll be the best night of my life and I'll go home and not drink. Yeah. Maybe.

But I have a date with you. And I'm definitely not going to be able to sleep tonight, and for once it'll be from excitement rather than fear.

Holy hell, what the fuck am I going to wear?

From Pete xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Houston, we have Peterick! And it only took, what, twenty-two chapters? Hahaha...ha...*coughs* Sorry guys. More to come, though.]


	23. Chapter 23

Dear Patrick,

Well.

I think it's fair to say the date didn't _quite_ go to plan.

It was a shame, because the plan was so damn good. I'd spent the whole day going over every little detail, trying to get everything right, down to the last second. Normal people would say it's unhealthy to obsess over something like this, but it was that or gradually drink myself out of consciousness.

I called Andy a few hours before, to ask some advice, seeing as this was pretty much my first proper date ever. That was a bad idea.

"Wait, so where did you say you were taking him?" He'd asked, buzzing down the phone at me.

I told him the name of the restaurant, and after what must have been some extremely speedy Googling, he found it.

"That's where you're going?" He said, an air of caution creeping into his voice.

"Yeah. Why? Is there a problem? Is it closed? It's closed isn't it, oh for fuck's sake what the hell am I-" I started to panic, before Andy cut me off.

"No, no, it's fine Pete, calm down dude, I just thought that maybe it's a little bit too posh? Like, for a first date?"

"Really?" Uh oh. I'd never been on an actual date before, I had no idea where to take you so I figured we'd go somewhere fancy. But I discovered I'm horrifically inexperienced at this.

"Well...I guess usually people start off going somewhere not too fancy, just to make things less formal. I mean, you don't want to scare him off, that's all."

"You think I'll scare him off? Oh god, should I book somewhere else? But it's too short notice to go somewhere else! What do I do Andy, please, help!" I hopped around my bedroom frantically, my voice climbing up the octaves.

"Okay, you're taking this way too seriously. Calm the fuck down." I could almost hear the eye roll as he spoke. "First of all, it's Patrick, you've known him forever and he's not going to care where you take him. Second, I'm kinda amazed you even managed to book a place like this because it's fancy as hell, so stick with it. And third, the most important thing is that you be yourself, he likes you for normal Pete, not stressed-out frantic oh-my-god-it-must-be-perfect Pete. So snap out of it."

I stopped pacing. Why is Andy always right? I sighed, flopping down on the bed. "Sorry. I just...I've never done this before, I don't know the rules."

"Look, don't think of them as rules, just...good manners I guess."

"Right, so what's good manners on a date?"

"Be nice, dress smart and don't expect anything of him. That last one's kind of important."

"What do you mean, _don't expect anything_?" I spat, getting more worked up every second.

"Just, um, how do I put this, don't expect to go anywhere below the waist at the end of the night."

I almost laughed out loud. "I'm not going to fuck him on the first date." More's the pity.

"How do you know what you're gonna do, you've never been on a damn date!"

"Shut up."

"You shut up!"

I huffed down the phone at him and earned an irritated _tsk_ in return.

"Andy," I said tentatively.

"What?"

"Can you help me choose what to wear?"

And that is how Andy Hurley lost an afternoon to playing dress-up with his bassist.

-

It was four minutes to six.

I sat in my car, breathing at the steering wheel and staring at the hands of my watch tick slowly round and round. And round.

It was going to be fine. It was going to be _fine_.

I mean, it's not like we needed to run through the awkward small-talk sketch, I already know pretty much everything about you. We could just talk like best friends do, happily and easily, but maybe with some hand-holding. I could handle that, right?

It didn't seem like I could, however, when I was standing outside your place, as if the door was holding me at gunpoint. _Just do it, just knock._

I had waited for this for so long. A few months ago, I would have killed to be in this position. But that was just it. The build up had been so massive, and I knew that whatever happened tonight, it would never match up to the hundreds of times I must have imagined it. I could never live up to my own expectations. This was a mistake. I couldn't do this. Oh shit. _I shouldn't have kissed you, I shouldn't have asked you out, I'm only going to be disappointed when it's not as perfect as I think it's going to be. I need to leave. Now._

"Pete!"

Crap.

You'd opened the door. You were looking at me excitedly, a grin spread over your face and a spark in your eyes. I jumped, snapping out of my reverie and probably looking like a complete idiot as I looked blankly at you. Then I actually _looked_ at you.

Damn.

You were wearing a grey blazer and trousers with a black shirt underneath, with the top two buttons undone. You fiddled with the trilby on your head as I picked my jaw up off the floor.

I'd seen you all smart before, for awards shows and weddings and stuff, but this was different. This was only for me. And oh my god it was amazing.

I must have stared for an uncomfortably long time, because when I looked back up at your face, it was bright red.

"Um...Pete?"

I'd forgotten that I was actually supposed to say things to you. What the hell do I say to you? _Say something smart._

"Yeah, no, you just...wow."

Great job.

"Not too bad yourself." You grinned, looking me up and down. My stomach did a little pirouette. "Let me just get my shoes on."

You left the door open and wandered back into your apartment, looking under tables and behind sofas until you found what you were looking for. I just stood in the doorway, like an idiot, as always, my mind shouting a thousand things at once. _Am I going to fuck this up? Should I have done this, said that? Am I actually going to be able to get through this evening without having a heart attack?_

"Shall we get going then?" you chimed, now suddenly right in front of me, shiny black shoes making your feet look more attractive than I ever thought feet could look.

I didn't trust myself to speak so I just nodded, holding my arm out like they do in the movies. You shut your door behind you and linked our elbows, smiling at me and giving my hand a squeeze. Holy fuck, does this mean you're excited?

I allowed myself to relax a little, smiling back at you. Forget butterflies, there were full-blown eagles flying around my stomach.

We walked down the steps to my car, and you didn't let go of my arm the whole time. You nattered away about something to do with what you had for lunch, whilst I tried to listen to all the voices in my head at once. I was so nervous of getting something wrong, I couldn't do anything right.

So I just guided you to the passenger seat in stony silence, before walking round to my side. I could feel your eyes on me. Was I walking weird? Did you not like my walk? Is there a special date-walk everyone knows about apart from me? _Oh god, oh god, I can't do this._

"So where are we off to?" You asked when we were on the road.

I didn't say anything, just pointed towards the SatNav, at the restaurant address.

"Wha- Really? But Pete, isn't that place, like, really posh?"

No. No, no. This was just what Andy said would happen.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, I just thought it would be nice and I didn't want to put you under pressure or anything I just...wanted to go somewhere nice. You know, for our first ever date." I finally spoke! And sounded like a scared chipmunk. I kept my eyes locked on the road.

You laughed. "No, Pete, don't worry, it's just...If I'd have known I'd have worn a proper suit." You gazed down at your shirt and quickly did up the top two buttons. I tried not to think about how you would look in a 'proper suit', for the sake of not crashing the car.

"Nah, you already look per- pretty good." I stammered. That was close.

You breathed a small laugh, "Thanks. So are we nearly there yet?" You bounced up and down in your seat, drumming on the dashboard and staring intently at the SatNav. Did I mention you're the cutest thing I've ever laid eyes on?

As if on cue, the restaurant finally appeared, its long driveway leading to white stone steps and big oak doors. I say oak, I have no idea what type of wood they were, oak just sounds most impressive. I was terrified of this place. We got closer, and closer.

Holy shit.

It was even worse inside. I felt like an intruder, with my stupid fringe and eyeliner, and the weird looks people were giving us weren't helping my nerves. You lightly held my hand as we were ushered to our table, and I could just feel the judgement radiating off the people we passed. I swear I heard someone whisper _faggots_ when they thought we were out of earshot.

But it didn't seem to bother you in the slightest. You'd been grinning for a large part of the evening, your eyes lighting up when you saw the web of crystal chandeliers across the ceiling and the deep red carpets. You cheerfully munched on the bread the waiter had given the table, breaking it up into little pieces and putting the tiniest amount of butter on every piece, then popping them one by one into your mouth.

I didn't feel like eating. I just tried to smile and laugh in the right places as you talked about god knows what, nearly knocking over our wine glasses several times with your elaborate hand gestures.

That was another problem. I rubbed the back of my neck as I stared at the dark red liquid in front of me. It was so tempting. _No, Pete, you know what'll happen._ I spent the first half of the meal trying to convince myself it was poisoned. Which, in a sense, I suppose it was.

In between the starter and the main, I suddenly noticed that you'd stopped talking. I looked up, my gaze having found a home amongst the cutlery on the table for the last half-hour.

You were staring straight at me, your head cocked to one side and your brows knitted together.

"Pete, are you okay?"

I nodded, my basic response to any question.

"Seriously, dude, you've barely said a word all evening. Is everything alright?"

No. No it really isn't.

"Yep, fine."

But you saw right through that one. Scowling, you leant towards me, as if the lines on my face would show you what was wrong. "Please tell me?"

I tried so hard not to cave. But then you brought out the puppy dog eyes. You know, you really don't play a fair game. I sighed, leaning back in my seat.

"I...well, I'm just nervous, I guess." Nervous was one way of putting it. Cripplingly afraid of fucking up and ruining the one good thing in my life was another.

"Nervous? About tonight? Why?" You said, amused, because you don't think you're anything special. You're everything special.

I shrugged. "I don't know, I just..." _Go on, for once be honest about your feelings. "_ I've been looking forward to this for kinda a long time, and I don't want to fuck it up."

I'm so glad I said that.

A smile spread across your face, your eyebrows rising in surprise. You looked at me for a long while, as if you were taking in every detail of my face. "Pete, I..." You searched for what to say, not taking your eyes off me. "That's so sweet. But please, don't be nervous, it's only me."

"Exactly."

You blushed, giggling again. "You moron, you're not going to fuck it up. Plus, this should be easy, I mean, we can skip all the boring stuff because we already know each other so well. Just talk to me, like you do normally. Because god knows, normally you never shut up." You grinned.

"Hey!" I protested, feigning offence. "I didn't book a fancy restaurant and spend four hours getting dressed to be insulted!"

" _Four hours?_ Are you serious?"

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "Creeped out yet?"

"Don't worry dude, you creeped me out ages ago."

"Again with the insults."

"That's what I'm here for."

I grinned. This was good. I could do this. It was gonna be okay. I saw your hand lying on the table between us and with a surge of confidence, I reached out and took it gently. You smiled, tangling our fingers together. I breathed out. I suddenly couldn't believe how complicated I'd made all this, because looking at our joined hands and your dazzling smile, it was so simple. The restaurant, the suit, the worrying, it all didn't matter, because I was with you, and you have this weird power to make me forget everything else.

The rest of the meal was as perfect as I'd dreamed it'd be.

-

"No, I'm sorry, Sinatra and Metallica have nothing in common." I'd stated, as we were waiting for the bill, after a meal of something French and with not enough sauce for my liking.

"Okay, maybe not musically, but _emotionally_ , they're actually quite similar."

"Look, Patrick, I know you're a musical genius and whatever, but I really beg to differ-"

"Listen to what they sing about! It's the same feelings, the same passion that-" You stopped abruptly, worry creeping across your face.

"Are you okay?" I said, still constructing my counter argument against Sinatra.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." You shifted slightly in your seat. I should have picked up the warning signs right there and then. But I didn't.

I also didn't notice how quickly you got up after we got the bill, thanking the waiter briefly and throwing down a tip. You grabbed my arm and walked out of the restaurant just a little too quickly.

I just carried on chatting away, wandering towards the car. If I'd have realised, I would've walked quicker. But I didn't.

The drive home was made up of me talking and you nodding along. I remember thinking that it was as if we'd swapped places over the course of the evening. Now I was the chatty one. I didn't stop to think why.

It was only as I was walking you back to your place that I finally twigged something wasn't quite right. I struggled to keep up with you as you powered up the stairs, eyes firmly on the ground.

"Patrick, are you sure you're okay?" I pulled you back, trying to get you to face me, but you brushed my hand away and made towards your door. You grabbed your keys from your pockets, frantically trying to find the right one. Your hands shook as you tried to get the key in the lock, and after the third attempt, I decided to intervene. I placed a hand on your shoulder, and another on your wrist, guiding the key into place and helping you turn it.

I opened my mouth to ask again what was wrong, but you were gone. You'd slammed the door open and dashed out of sight, leaving me bewildered and concerned.

I looked into your apartment, feeling as though I was intruding, even though I'd been here millions of times before. _Do I go in?_ Okay, I have to know what's up with you.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. Where the fuck were you?

Then I heard a sound coming from the bathroom. A sound I knew all too well, thanks to my ongoing affair with alcohol. It was the sound of someone emptying the contents of their stomach. 

Oh. _Oh._

Everything made sense now.

I ran to the bathroom, and sure enough, there you were, on your knees, arms braced against the rim of the toilet, choking on your dinner. Your hat and glasses were strewn on the floor beside you, your head bent low. I blinked a few times, mentally cursing, before springing over to your crumpled form, kneeling beside you.

"I'm sorry," You gasped at me, before throwing up again violently, your shoulders shaking and your face tinged greyish-green.

I gaped at you. How could you possibly think you needed to apologise?

"Go away, Pete." You breathed heavily, batting me away. "This is fucking disgusting, get out."

"Patrick, I-"

"Seriously, you don't need to see this."

I obligingly got up, giving your back a quick rub before leaving the room. But I had no intention of leaving you to suffer.

I ran out to the kitchen and grabbed you a glass of water, filling it full of ice too, because I knew you'd be burning up right now. But before I went back to you, I had to allow myself a bit of a breakdown.

Why. Why tonight? Why, of all the dates in the world, was it this one, _this one_ , the one that so much rested upon, that got fucked up? I'd planned it so well, it was going so well, you'd enjoyed yourself, _I'd_ enjoyed myself, and this was how it had to end? God, fate, luck, whatever, fuck you.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I'd save the rest of my little rant for later on tonight, accompanied by pills and whiskey. Shit, shit, shit.

As soon as I got back to the bathroom, I grabbed a flannel and ran it under cold water, before sitting beside you again. You groaned at me, motioning for me to leave, but when I gave you the water, you looked at me as if I'd handed you a Grammy. You took it and downed the whole thing in one, gasping for air when you'd finished and bowing your head once more. I took the glass from you and held up the flannel, guiding it towards your face.

You looked at it, then at me. "What the fuck is that for?"

"For your face. You're really hot."

"Why thank you."

I rolled my eyes, "No, seriously Patrick, you're boiling, this'll help, it's soaked in cold water."

"Trying to get me wet on the first date, Wentz?"

"You're an idiot, Patrick." I shoved the flannel at you, wiping the sweat from your clammy skin as you screwed your eyes shut. You're sassy when you're sick. I tried to act like it didn't turn me on. "So what d'you think caused...er...this?" I asked, nodding at the contents of the toilet.

You shrugged. "That posh food obviously didn't agree with me."

I heard you gag, and you leant over the toilet once more. But there was nothing left to puke. Whatever it was, it had to be out of your system by now. I bet it was those fucking weird eggs. 

Typical. I take you to the best restaurant in Chicago and they fucking poison you. I'm planning the hate mail already.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick. I knew I should've just ordered pizza."

You laughed weakly, flushing the toilet and slumping next to it. "Nah, don't worry about it. It was a nice place, probably nothing to do with the food either, just my stupid insides." You sighed, shifting around a bit. "Okay, I think I'm alright now."

"Really? You sure?" I watched you trying to get up, your hands still shaking wildly. I jumped to my feet and helped you stand, guiding you toward the living room and sitting you down on the couch. You sank into it gratefully.

I didn't really know what to do then; Andy hadn't prepared me for this situation, so I just ran around, gathering stuff I thought might help, blankets and pillows and a big empty bowl just in case your dinner decided to make another grand reappearance.

You kicked your shoes off and curled up down one end of the couch, and I did my best not to _aww_ at you as I tucked the blankets around you and the pillow under your head. Why are you so cute even when you're sick?

You huffed into the pillow as I sat down next to you, a pained expression on your face.

"I told you I'd fuck up." I sighed, folding my arms and looking at the floor. All the excitement I'd felt before had deflated into disappointed guilt. I was already picturing what would happen when I got home; I could almost smell the hangover.

"I told you, Pete, don't worry about it."

I fiddled with a piece of loose thread on my shirt. "I just...I wanted our first date to be perfect."

You grinned at me, the look in your eyes reminding me of sunshine or honey or something. I couldn't quite pinpoint it. You breathed out heavily. "I would say something suggestive like _the night's not over yet_ , but I'm kinda icky. I think I got the worst of it out of me, though." You laughed, ever the optimist.

Still sulking, I couldn't muster anything more than a mumble. "Does this mean I don't get to kiss you?" I had so been looking forward to that.

"Are you kidding? I'm disgusting, you don't want to kiss me." You shifted around on the sofa so you were sitting up, facing me. You weren't green any more, but your already pale skin was even paler. Still fucking beautiful, though.

"I really do." The sincerity in my voice surprised even me. I leant forward, just a little.

Don't think I didn't see you staring at my lips.

"Wait one second." Suddenly you jumped up, untangling your legs from the blankets and running towards the bathroom. _Oh crap, you're gonna throw up again._

I heard some scuffling around, listening out for that excruciating coughing sound I'd heard before, but none came.

After a couple of minutes speculating about what the hell you were doing in there, and trying my utmost not to let my mind wander into places it shouldn't, you opened the door.

You'd changed into your pyjamas, and maybe you'd even combed your hair, because it wasn't sticking up every which way like it normally does. Seeing my eyes light up, you blushed and ducked your head, walking over to me and plopping down on the sofa again.

The first thing I noticed when I sat down was this gorgeous sweet aroma, wafting towards me in time with your breathing.

"What the hell is that smell?!" I exclaimed, sniffing around in the air between us.

"Mouthwash." You said, shrugging. "Now I won't taste like shit."

"You smell like fucking bubblegum!" I leaned towards you, my nose barely an inch from your face. I stuck my tongue out, meaning to lick at only the air, but ended up slobbering all over your cheek.

You yelped, swatting me away, but giggled all the same, wiping at your face with your sleeve. "Ew, Pete! You don't lick bubblegum!" Then, you got this little wicked spark in your eyes, a smirk appearing on your face. "You blow it."

I stopped dead, searching your face all over for something to tell me what the hell I should do next. Were you suggesting what I thought you were suggesting? I mean, Andy had said no sex, but surely blow jobs don't count? Do they count? I didn't know. My eyes flicked down, momentarily resting on your pyjama bottoms. If you wanted me to, um, pleasure you, then I sure as hell wasn't saying no. I'd spent long enough thinking about it. "Okay."

I looked back up at you. You laughed slightly. "I was joking."

"I wasn't." Staring dead into your eyes, I shuffled just a little bit closer.

And you shifted a little bit further away. My heart dropped. I'd gone too far. I'd scared you off. Forget the restaurant, it was me who'd put the pressure on you. "Uh, maybe...maybe not tonight."

I coughed, scrambling back down the other end of the couch. "Of course. I'm sorry." _Too far, too far._

But you didn't let it dampen the mood. You flashed me one of your sweet smiles, you know the ones that make me melt on the inside. "So are you gonna kiss me? Or do I have to come over there and kiss you myself?"

That was when I realised I couldn't take another second without your lips on mine. I lurched across the sofa at the same time you did, closing my eyes as we sank into the kiss. I caught your face in my hands, gasping slightly as your fingers tangled in my hair, tugging at it just enough to make me wonder if my pants had always been this tight. I pulled you closer, so that our chests were touching, and moved my hands to the back of your neck. Heat coursed through my body as your lips parted, letting me taste you. You tasted like bubblegum too.

We stayed there, lost in each other's mouths and breathing in each other's scent. My lungs were filled with nothing but you.

Finally, after what was probably the longest make-out session I'd ever had, we broke apart. I flopped backwards, breathing hard, a big bundle of happiness in my chest. Wow.

"That was...fucking...oh my god." I heard you sigh.

"Yeah." I breathed back.

They were all the words we needed.

We both slept on the couch that night, tangled in each other's arms. I'd forgotten what that was like.

-

I'm back home now. We said our shy goodbyes the next morning, me still in my suit, tie and all. You've recovered from whatever you had that night, you're all bright and perky again. I can't stop smiling. I haven't drunk a single drop of anything that might make me forget that night, I haven't had a nightmare since. I actually look forward to waking up in the morning.

Because the truth is that although that date was, let's face it, a disaster, it was one of the best evenings of my life. I might have poisoned you, but then you poisoned me, and I don't ever want to get you out of my system. Plus, you didn't give a definite no to the blow job suggestion. Maybe next time? No, no, I can't think about stuff like that, I've already had to have one cold shower today. 

But fucking hell, Patrick, you sitting there with your cheeks all flushed and your lips all swollen was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. To hell with sunsets, the colours in your eyes are all I'll ever need.

I love you so much.

From Pete xxx


	24. Chapter 24

Dear Patrick,

It's been a few months since my last letter. We're in a whole new year now.

And right now, if things carry on the way they are, 2006 is set to be the best year of my life. Because you've made me so much better.

I drink a little, but only as much as you do. I can do that now, have just one glass of wine, one beer, one flute of champagne, and I don't feel the need to keep going until I've lost memories and gained headaches.

I've had a couple nightmares, I mean, I wasn't expecting them to go away just like that, but most nights, I just sleep. Sometimes, I even dream, mostly about you. There was this one where I was sitting on the edge of a cliff, thinking about jumping. I thought it was going to end up being another night of sweat and tears, but then you came and sat beside me. Nothing else happened, but I remember waking up and feeling so...content, I guess. Maybe you sitting next to me is all I'll ever need.

So seeing as I no longer have to get over you, I shouldn't need to write these any more. They were meant to help me deal with the difficult times, and times aren't difficult now. But, I guess I just like to write stuff. To get the memories down in ink is like preserving them. Maybe one day I'll read these and relive the good times.

That's what I'm doing. This Christmas was the best ever, and I'm sure as hell not forgetting it.

-

Since the first date, we'd had a couple more, in between shows and stuff, and they were perfect. Then again, I could take you on a date to a sewage processing plant and it'd still be perfect. Everything's perfect with you. Jesus, you've turned me into such a sap.

It's mostly just been us getting used to being lovers. Or rather, you getting used to being my lover. It didn't take much getting used to for me. We hadn't gone much further than kissing and hand holding. At least, _before_ Christmas we hadn't.

Joe's still kinda frosty about me and you; he doesn't trust me, and he doesn't trust you because you trust me. I only have to put and arm round you and he's shouting. He thinks it'll wreck the band. I very much disagree.

So anyway, Christmas. You've known about my family situation for a while now, or rather lack of family situation. And I've got to be honest, I was utterly petrified of Christmas. I'd always hated it, seeing everybody else smiling and giving gifts and sitting by the fire, then looking at myself, my empty house, my empty heart. For me, it was by far the loneliest time of year. You'd always invite me round to your house, and I'd always say no, because I thought I'd be unwanted and unhappy.

This year, you were more forceful.

 

"So Pete, Christmas Eve is the day everyone's arriving, so you're best off getting there early so you can bagsy one of the beds. Otherwise you gotta sleep on the floor. Oh, and take a spare toothbrush, my uncle has a thing for them." You'd said as we lazed on your couch, having just cobbled together a couple songs.

"What do you mean, Christmas Eve?" I said, sitting up and staring at you as if you'd been speaking Japanese.

"You know, Pete, the day before Christmas day? We've been over this." You cooed mockingly.

"But, I'm not coming for Christmas." I said, crossing my arms at you.

You just laughed. "Oh yes you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"I said, no."

"Oh come on Pete, it's not like you're gonna be busy. You always refuse our invitations, but not this year. No more lonely Christmases. Christmas is family time." You asserted.

"Well I don't have a fucking family." I shot back, hoping to guilt you into backing down.

"Then you'll just have to share mine. God knows I've got more than enough for two." You said, sighing. "Why don't you want to spend Christmas with me?"

I groaned. Were you really going to go down that road?

But you blinked your big eyes at me and I caved, as always.

"I just don't like Christmas. And also...I don't want to meet your family." I flinched away from you as soon as I'd spoken.

Your eyebrows knitted together, "Why? What's wrong with my family?" You snapped indignantly.

"Nothing at all, but they won't like me."

"Why? They've met you before."

"Only your parents. And they don't know about our...situation yet."

"Yes they do."

I looked up sharply. You looked perfectly relaxed, lounging on the couch with your arms thrown behind your head. The exact opposite of what I was now feeling. "You told them about us? What, like, _us_ as a _thing_? Why the hell would you do that?"

You laughed again. "Because they're my family and I actually tell them stuff. Also you're really hot and I wanted to show off. They really like you, Pete, they always have."

I felt myself blush. The retort I'd planned fizzled away into thin air.

"So please will you come for Christmas? It's chaos but it's awesome. You don't have to bring any presents, there's so many of us we don't know who's given what. Just turn up with some cookies and my mum'll let you stay forever." You looked at me hopefully, a smile spreading across your face.

I huffed. I gotta stop giving in to you so fucking fast. I nodded.

You gave me a massive hug, knocking your hat off in the process, why you wear that thing indoors I'll never know, before pulling back and planting a kiss on my lips. I nuzzled your nose and you giggled at me, the corners of your eyes crinkling up and your cheeks going round as apples. I hate you, you make me love you so much.

All things being said, I was kinda excited about Christmas now.

-

You were right about the chaos.

I didn't manage to turn up early on Christmas eve because I'd spent almost an hour picking out the right type of cookies to get your mum. I'd heard you say once she liked chocolate, but what type? Do I play it safe and go with milk chocolate? Or go bold with white? I'd never been so stressed about a fucking cookie.

I knew I was late because when I turned up to your parents' house, there were a shit load of cars already outside. I hoped to god that you were here already, otherwise this was going to be really awkward. Why the hell didn't we arrange to go together? Because we are the least organised people in Illinois, that's why.

I didn't even have to knock on the door. Your mum opened it before I had the chance, and suddenly I was bombarded with noise. People talking, kids shouting, plates clattering, it was like a zoo in your house. My fear must have showed, because your mum hugged me as soon as she saw me. Man, spine-cracking hugs obviously run in the family.

"Pete!" She'd said, breaking the hug and holding me by my shoulders as if to get a good look at me. "We haven't seen you in a while. How are you?"

"I'm great, thanks ma'am." I held out the cookies as if they were an example of my feeling great.

"Oh, please, call me Patricia. And aren't you a sweetheart! I'd say you shouldn't have, but these are my favourite so I'm very grateful. Come on in!"

My cookie relief was short-lived as she dragged be through the door, revealing the mass of people in your lounge. I knew your old house so well, I'd been here so often, but it was so different with all this noise.

"Patrick's running late, silly boy didn't pack the night before. I did tell him, _don't leave it all 'till the last minute_ , but does he ever listen to me? Of course not. Always been such a scatterbrain. I don't know how you put up with him. You can always trust our Patrick to be late, I've always told him _buy yourself an alarm clock, then you might be on time_ , but no, he won't do it, silly boy..." Your mum disappeared off into the kitchen, muttering more to herself than to me.

I felt like a rabbit in the headlights with all these people everywhere. Where the hell were they all gonna sleep? And where were you, you'd promised you'd be with me the whole time, please get here soon, please.

"Hello, Pete, how are you?" I heard a deep voice ask from behind me. Oh shit, it was your dad. He'd always terrified me. I immediately regretted wearing eyeliner.

"I'm good, sir, how are you?"

He ignored my question. "Now, Patricia tells me that you're the man making love to my son, is that true?"

I choked on the breath I'd taken. "N-no, we're just dating, sir."

"Hmm. You seem like a nice enough fellow. Maybe Patrick was right about you. You make sure you take care of him."

"Y-yes sir, of course."

He seemed satisfied with that. "Well then merry Christmas, and we're very glad to have you."

He clapped me on the shoulder and followed your mum into the kitchen. I breathed out.

The lounge was filled with little clumps of people, some in the hall, some by the Christmas tree, others squeezed on the sofa. I just stood there like an idiot, wondering whether to get my sleeping stuff in from the car or not. I was just about to turn around and walk out the door when I felt a little tap on the back of my leg.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

I whipped round, scared for my life, only to find a little group of kids standing in front of me. They were all different ages, but none of them could have been older than seven. The girl at the front looked up at me expectantly, dressed as an elf and wielding a glittery wand which I'm sure she wasn't afraid to use.

"Uh...I'm Pete." I said simply, trying not to let on how much I didn't like talking to kids.

For some reason, they all giggled, poking and whispering to each other. The ringleader spoke again. "Are you going to marry Uncle Patrick?"

I choked for a second time in the space of five minutes. When you said you'd told your family, I didn't think you meant your _whole_ family. "I..um...maybe someday." _Definitely someday._

They giggled again. Why do they have to do everything in packs? The girl at the front turned to the others and announced "I'm going to be a bridesmaid!"

The whole lot of them erupted into shouts of "Me too!" "Me three!" "I'm going to be a page boy!" "I'm going to be the vicar!"

At that moment, I heard your mum shout. "Patrick!"

And there you were, bustling through the door, arms full of presents and face full of smiles. I felt the muscles in my back relax. The group of kids ran over to you, almost knocking you over as they hugged your legs.

The whole room looked up, the people on the sofa standing and crowding in your direction, wine glasses being put down in order to exchange hugs with you. Everyone gravitated towards you. Their reactions had been so instant, like you were the rain ending the drought. I smiled so wide, because looking around at their smiling faces, I realised that you are so loved.

"Which one's for me Patrick?" The kids chattered as they took the presents from you, frantically searching for the labels.

"This one's mine!" A little boy said, holding up a box and shaking it. "Can I open it now Uncle Patrick, please?" He pulled at the hem of your shirt.

You laughed. "No, Max, not until Christmas day! Now go put it under the tree with the rest."

They all whined, wrestling presents off each other.

"But, I do have something for you now..." You produced a tin from somewhere and opened it. Their faces lit up. "Candy canes!"

You passed the tin round to all of them, grinning wider as they each thanked and hugged you, not needing the stern prompts from their various parents. You watched them run off with a laugh. They loved you. You're gonna be a great dad someday.

Eventually you straightened up, the presents taken off you one by one, and began exchanging handshakes and hugs as if you'd just won some sort of award. Your mum pushed through the crowd and engulfed you, cutting you off mid _Merry Christmas_.

"Welcome home, Patrick." She pulled back, looking you up and down. "You're late, you know."

You rolled your eyes, earning a few laughs from the people around you.

"And what are you still wearing this for?" She swept the hat off your head.

"Mum," You whined, making grabby hands for it.

"No, darling, you might wear it with those Fall Out Boys, but in this house we like to see your hair." She ruffled said hair, making it go all cute and fluffy.

I just kinda stood there, watching as you greeted everyone, making sure not the miss out anyone. It was amazing how so many people were so pleased to see you. I struggle to get a hug off of one person, and there you were, being practically fought over.

Finally, you'd got through everyone. How you managed to remember all the names I'll never know.

"Pete!"

Before I knew it, there was a Patrick-shaped lump in my arms, hugging the life out of me and wishing me enough Merry Christmases to last a lifetime.

"I'm so glad you came!"

I grinned and placed you gently back on the floor, running my fingers through your hair and kissing you, my other hand wandering down to your waist and pulling you closer. I ran my tongue across your lips in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but felt you giggle against my mouth and push me away.

It was only once we'd parted that I looked around, realising that most of your family were staring at us. Some _aww_ ed _,_ others laughed and rolled their eyes, the kids wrinkled their noses and faked sick noises. I blushed, my mouth hanging open stupidly, before you leaned into my chest, laughing.

"Honestly, boys, not in front of the children." Your mum swatted at us as she walked past.

"Sorry mum!" You called, mouthing apologies at the rest of the onlookers. You lowered your voice, still smiling, "No tongues around family, Pete."

I nodded profusely, cringing at the fact that that was the majority of your relatives' first impression of me. Shit.

"So who've you met so far?" You asked, when everyone had gone back to their conversations.

"Um...your parents....and some of the kids." And I'd already met your parents, so the only new person I'd actually spoken to so far was a seven-year-old elf. Top marks for socialising, Pete.

You sighed. "Is that it? Typical."

"I can't help it, I'm not good at talking! Also why is your family so huge?" I asked, looking around at the mass of people.

You shrugged. "We used to be catholic."

And with that, you dragged me off to meet everyone, doing your smiley thing and making them all melt like you did with me. How do you do that?

To be perfectly honest, I forgot each person's name as soon as you'd told me, but I got a rough idea of who they all were. The kids were mostly your nieces and nephews, some of the older kids were cousins, then you had a lot of aunts and uncles, and some people like me who were friends of the family.

What surprised me about them all is how accepting they were; we'd got used to the odd insult here and there when we were out in public, there was always one asshole who shouted something across the street and you'd hug me closer and I'd tell them to fuck off. Someone even spat at us once. But your family all treated us right. There were a few strange glances here and there, but I guess you can't expect people to just drop their built-in prejudices. I got smiles and handshakes off everyone, and I gotta say, it felt good. Maybe I could get used to this family thing.

The rest of the day was spent helping your mum cook stuff for the big day, and making up all the beds. And fucking hell, there were a lot of beds. By the time we'd finished, most of the upstairs floor was covered in mattresses. It was so weird seeing your old room again, the Bowie posters and the impressive record collection. 

I pretty much stuck with you the whole time, because they all loved you, and because I was with you, they loved me too.

Or at least, that's what I thought. Until your grandma arrived.

She was fine on the outside. She was a perfectly normal grandma, doing perfectly normal grandma things. When she arrived, later than everyone else because she'd had a long way to come, she hugged people and smiled, brought a tin of home-made gingerbread Christmas trees, wore a little pink cardigan with a spangly necklace and her hair in a bun. If I'd have known what she was really like, I wouldn't've let you go running over to her and hug her. Your smiles were wasted on her.

She was fine when she talked to everyone, even helped your mum out in the kitchen for a bit, and went round topping up the bowls of sweets and chocolates that were dotted around the room.

At that point, we were taking a break from bed-making to peek at the presents under the tree. We took turns guessing what they might be. That's when she decided to pounce.

"Look, Patrick, I've seen quite a few amps in my time, and that is not one." I said, pointing at the big square box in your hands.

"You don't know that! Feel how heavy it is!" You thrust the box at me, and holy fuck, it was heavy. Probably too heavy to be an amp to be honest.

I was just about to say that when a figure loomed over us.

"Hello, Patrick, dear, can I speak to you for a moment?" She said sweetly.

I stood up, wanting to put my new social confidence to use. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm Pete, I don't believe we've-"

"I was talking to Patrick. Can I speak to you, _alone_?" She cast a glance at me, as if I was a nasty something that'd been left on her lawn.

You kept smiling, obviously a bit confused, but at this point, neither of us realised that she was pure evil. "Yeah, of course grandma, we can go in my dad's study." You jumped up and walked with her, leaving me sitting under the tree by myself.

I already knew something was up. Everyone else had been really nice to me, but her...there was something about her tone of voice. I waited until you'd disappeared down the hall, before following you.

I saw the door to the study close, and quickly pressed my ear to it. I am nothing if not a nosy parker, so you bet your ass I wanted to hear this. And I'm fucking glad I did.

"Patrick, darling, I heard something earlier that got me a little worried. I was hoping you could put my mind at rest." She said, her voice muffled slightly through the door.

"Oh, really? What did you hear?" I could hear the worry in your voice.

"Just that...how do I put this eloquently...that you and that Pete boy are...in a relationship."

Uh oh.

"Well Patrick? Don't you want to correct this disgusting rumour?" She snapped, after you'd stayed silent.

"I...um...uh...well...I..." You stammered. I could almost hear your fingers knotting together.

"Come on, boy, spit it out."

"It's true."

Silence. Not for long though.

"Oh, Patrick. Are you really telling me that you're...you're...a _homosexual?"_

"I think I'm bisexual, really, but-"

"Oh, God help me. My own grandson. What did we do wrong?!" She said to herself.

"Please, grandma, I'm still me, I'm still-"

"Okay. Listen, Patrick, don't you worry darling. What we're going to do is find you a good doctor, and a good church, because it's just a disease, dear, it's curable, we'll get it out of you."

"No, I-"

"All you need is God, you've been led astray, and the Lord can help you. You'll be cleansed of this sin, and you'll be normal in no time at all."

"But-"

"What you need to realise, child, is that Satan has made you like this. That Pete thing, he is inhabited by the devil, but we can still save you. You can get rid of him, that will help. You must be strong. Oh good grief, what will your mother say?"

"Grandma," You raised your voice, finally. "Mum already knows. I don't have a disease. I don't need to be _cured_ , or whatever, Pete is not the devil. I..I really like him, and he's been nothing but kind to me. So please, grandma, I'm still myself, I don't need a doctor, I'm not a sinner. And I'm sure as hell not getting rid of Pete."

I silently cheered.

Then I heard a sharp slap. You yelped.

That was it.

I yanked the door open, seeing you clutching your cheek, and her with her hand raised again, ready to hurt you. I flew to your side, cradling your head and trying to resist the urge to break her neck after what she did to you.

She gasped, staring daggers at me. "Were you _eavesdropping_?" she spat.

"You hit him. You actually hit him." I said incredulously.

"I was just-"

"No, you don't get excuses. He is your grandson, your own flesh and blood, and you'd hurt him like that? You should be ashamed."

She backed off a bit. I was careful not to fly into a rage, knowing that it would only make matters worse. So I decided to kill her with kindness.

"Look, ma'am, I understand that you were brought up to hate people like us. I get that you see us as demons, as outcasts, as people who need help from God. But the thing is, God loves everybody. _Equally._ Isn't _love thy neighbour_ the key principle of Christianity?"

Her expression softened a little.

"Now, I'm not asking you to agree with this. I'm just asking you to tolerate it. D'you know, there are too many people to count in this house, and not one of them has said an unfriendly word to either of us? If they can manage it, so can you. All we ask is some respect. I'll never hurt your grandson, as long as I live. What we have, it's not something to be disgusted by. It's not demonic or unnatural. With all my heart, I love Patrick. And isn't that really what God wants above all? Love?"

Fucking hell. I gave myself a little mental round of applause for that.

She was silent for a really long time. She sat down in the big spinny chair at the desk, looking at us thoughtfully. I tightened my hold on you. She saw the way my arms wound around you protectively, the pleading look on your face as she decided what to think.

She sighed a few times during her silence, a number of different emotions touching her eyes. It dragged on for so long I actually started to get kinda bored.

And then she fucking agreed.

"Okay. I don't approve. But okay, young man. Maybe I was wrong. Love is love, you're right. I'm sorry I hit you, Patrick, I wasn't thinking. I'll see you at dinner." And on that note, she left the room, still deep in thought. That was quick.

We both stared after her, wondering what the hell just happened.

I felt like singing. But instead, I turned my attention to you. You hugged me tight, burying your face in my shoulder.

"Pete, that was amazing!" You exclaimed, your eyes lighting up as you broke the hug. "You just managed to persuade my devout catholic homophobic grandmother to respect gay people. Wow."

"Did you know about the homophobic part?"

"Nope, no idea. Up 'till now she was just my sweet little grandma, I just kinda assumed she'd be fine with it. Everyone else was."

"Are you okay?" I asked, tilting your face to make you look at me. I know how upset stuff like that makes you. "Did she hurt you?"

You laughed at my concern, leading me out of the room. "Nah, not really. Just gave me a shock. I never thought she'd say stuff like that. I can't believe she said you were inhabited by the devil."

"Maybe I am," I giggled, digging my fingers into your sides and making you squirm.

"No, get your demonic hands off me!" You feigned shock, holding up your arms to form a cross in front of you.

We kept laughing for the rest of the evening.

Neither of us mentioned the fact that I'd said I loved you.

-

Before we knew it, Christmas eve was nearly over. With no more tetchy relatives to deal with, we talked and laughed late into the night, playing several truly awesome games of charades and making complete asses of ourselves, it was great. I like your family.

Then, gradually, people started to fade off to bed, and the sound of teeth being cleaned and heads hitting pillows filled the house. We were left on the sofa, sleep tugging at our eyes, our fingers loosely interlocked.

We'd drawn the short straw when it came to beds, or rather, you had. Your mum had insisted on the _guests first_ rule, and kicked you out of your room. She and your dad had bagsied the basement, leaving you with the sofa bed in the lounge. You'd huffed at that, and I'll bet it was because it meant you couldn't lie in for half the day, out of sight. Being a guest, I was set to sleep upstairs, on a proper bed, and I couldn't wait. All that socialising had me completely worn out.

But, you being you, of course you wouldn't let me go. I helped you drag the sofa bed into position, piling your duvet on the top of it lazily, before slurring a _goodnight_ at you.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" You whisper-shouted, crossing your arms.

"Upstairs, where sleep will happen?" I shot back, rolling my eyes.

"Don't I even get a goodnight kiss?" You whined, tilting your head to one side.

I sighed, trailing back over to you, trying to hide the fact that I actually did really want to kiss you. "Okay, Patrick." I leaned towards you, expecting to feel your lips against mine, but you grabbed my hand and tugged on it, causing me to topple forward and land headfirst in the mess of blankets on your bed.

You pulled the duvet out from under me and laid it over me, before running round the other side of the bed and climbing in next to me. I scrambled around under the covers, trying to find the edge of them, until finally my head poked up next to yours.

"What the hell was that for?" I snapped at you, trying to keep a straight face.

"I need cuddles." You said simply, shrugging. You wrapped your arms around me, pecking me lightly on the cheek.

"Am I nothing more than a teddy bear to you?" I asked, nuzzling the top of your head.

"Nope. Nothing more." You giggled, and I felt your chest vibrate.

"Okay. I'm fine with that." I reasoned, squeezing you tighter.

You hummed peacefully, and gradually your breathing slowed and your muscles relaxed, taken by sleep.

And I just lay there, with you, thinking how utterly perfect my life is.

Little did I know it was about to get so much better.

-

Christmas morning was amazing.

I woke up pretty early, what with my erratic sleeping habits, which meant I got to be awake for my first proper Father Christmas visit, I guess.

I was lying there, staring at your face because to be honest if it weren't socially unacceptable then I'd do it all the time, when I heard the patter of feet upstairs. Then more feet. Then even more feet. The pattering got louder, then I heard it come down the stairs, accompanied by excited whispers and wide eyes. The lounge light suddenly flicked on.

There must have been about seven kids in total (although I'm not sure, they all look the same), who crept quietly into the lounge, looking around. I immediately fell back into the pillow, closing my eyes and hoping they hadn't seen me awake.

"Uncle Pete?"

Shit.

I tried not to groan as I sat up, jumping at the sight of a load of kids four inches from my face. It was the leader again, no longer dressed as an elf but in penguin pyjamas.

"Has Santa been?" She asked anxiously. The others held their breath, looking at me hopefully.

I had no idea what to say. How does the whole Santa thing even work? He'd never fucking visited me. I looked around, as if the answer might be written on the walls. But to my surprise, it kinda was.

Hanging from the fireplace just in front of our bed were seven stockings, little brightly wrapped packages peeking out the top of them. I grinned. Wow, 'Santa' must have been really sneaky, 'cause I didn't hear him at all last night.

I pointed at the stockings, smiling as their gazes followed my finger. "I think he has."

They squealed, rushing over to them and lifting them carefully off the hooks on the mantelpiece. Each one even had a name embroidered into it, and the kids all scrabbled to get their own one.

For seven excited kids, I had to say they'd been pretty quiet. I looked over at you; you were still asleep, and had taken one of my arms captive. I was just about to conclude that the rule of _never wake a sleeping Patrick_ wouldn't be broken, when they started to climb on the bed.

I freaked out, it was like a fucking horror movie, them all closing in on me like that, stockings in hand. But they all made little homes for themselves amongst the covers, a couple on the corners, a few in the middle, avoiding your legs. Then, the leader came and sat right in the middle of us, grinning up at me and plonking her stocking in my lap.

"Can we open them now?"

Without parents to consult or experience to tell me otherwise, I nodded.

Scared and slightly confused, I watched as the horde started to open their presents, their faces lighting up one by one. Suddenly, I was inundated.

"Look, Uncle Pete, I got a reindeer!"

"I got a bracelet!"

"Me too, mine has snowmen on it!"

I smiled as they insisted on showing me everything, watching my reaction and grinning when I did. Soon there was wrapping paper everywhere, and small, stocking-sized gifts all over the place. Then they all just sat there, gathering up their little collections and looking at everything all over again.

"Uncle Pete," The leader whispered to me as I brushed ribbon off myself, "Is Uncle Patrick asleep?"

_No, Uncle Patrick is dead, he ate too many mince pies and his blood turned to cream. Of course he's asleep, you little moron!_

"I think so."

"Uncle Patrick! It's Christmas, and Santa's been!" She said to you. You didn't move. I was going to stop her, but then I wanted you awake even more than she did. I was surprised you hadn't already woken up from all this commotion. Actually, no I wasn't. You could sleep through a nuclear war. But it's Christmas day, surely you can get up early for one day of the year.

She poked you. Nothing.

I poked you. Still nothing.

She looked at me in despair, but I knew what to do. I lowered my voice to a whisper.

"Tickle him."

Patrick, I'm really, very sorry for what happened next.

I hadn't whispered quite as quietly as I should have. All seven hyperactive children heard what I'd said. And seven hyperactive children were what suddenly rained down on you, attacking your whole body with relentless tickles.

I've never seen anyone so terrified.

Your eyes flew open, desperately trying to make sense of the situation you'd just been dropped into. You let out a petrified squeak as fingers wriggled at you from all angles, and tried to seek refuge in the covers, hiding underneath them and curling up as tightly as you could. I tried not to laugh, I really did, but you looked so ridiculous covered in kids that I couldn't stop.

Eventually I decided to put an end to your suffering, "Okay, I think he's awake now." I batted their arms away, and the shrill giggles died down. We all sat back and stared at the lump in the duvet. It groaned.

I attempted to help you out by reaching a hand down into the covers and pull you from them, but I ended up jabbing you in the eye, earning a yelp, closely followed by a growl. You writhed around for a bit, kicking me not-so-accidently before finally resurfacing next to me. Your glare could have cut diamond.

You looked around slowly, rubbing your eyes, taking in the children and the stockings and the wrapping paper. When your gaze settled on me, I honestly thought I might end up with a black eye.

"Merry Christmas, Pete." You smiled sleepily.

I sighed with relief and smiled back, reaching out and ruffling your crazy bed hair. Wow, that must have been some strong Christmas spirit you took last night.

The kids laughed, and being kids, proceeded to take turns fluffing your hair too.

Then you pounced.

"Now I'll have my revenge!" You shrieked as you gathered up the children, including me, and started to tickle us. The room filled with laughter, and bits of wrapping paper flew everywhere as we all tried to scramble away from you without falling off the bed.

Soon, we were reduced to messes of giggles, flopping down on the duvet, exhausted already.

I sat up and looked at you, grinning at your nephews and nieces proudly as they started to show you what Father Christmas brought them. You're so good with them. Fuck it, I want kids with you.

After a while, they all decided it was a good enough time to wake their parents up, and scampered upstairs with armfuls of gifts, chattering away to each other about reindeer and mince pies. To be fair, they are kinda cute.

You crawled back over to me and cuddled into my shoulder, sighing softly.

"Merry Christmas." You whispered, genuinely this time.

"Merry Christmas to you too." I replied, lifting your face towards mine and kissing you softly.

Fucking hell, I love you.

-

The rest of the day was wonderfully chaotic, just like everything else about your family. Gradually, people trickled down the stairs, some fully dressed and beaming, others, like you, still half-asleep.

We had this big proper breakfast, with beans and eggs and stuff, and your mum did the toast just right with the butter right to the edges. We all steadily came to, bopping to whatever Christmas song was playing on the radio as the fact that today was the fucking day dawned upon us.

Festive jumpers were donned, crackers were pulled, and a number of hilarious jokes were made at our expense during Christmas dinner, because your family can't seem to be able to stop teasing you about finally being in a proper relationship. I've never heard so many virgin jokes in one meal.

It's been years and years since I had a proper Christmas like that. When I looked across at the people sitting around the table, all I saw was happiness. They laughed and they drank too much and then they laughed even harder, scaring each other to death with well-timed party poppers. And I felt like one of them; for once I wasn't lonely, or forgotten, or out of place, I was with family.

I never wanted it to end.

But, the light faded and the plates emptied, and gradually, we all sank into the post-food stupor, lazily unwrapping presents and humming under our breaths.

I sat in the armchair in the corner, watching you retrieve presents from under the tree and hand them out, giving every person a big smile as their faces lit up from whatever you'd got for them. You were given a fair few gifts yourself, and you sat cross-legged on the floor, unwrapping each one carefully until you were buried in sellotape and paper. I swear to god if you get any cuter I'll probably just keel over.

A bit later on, you sidled over to me shyly, plopping down on the arm of the chair. I looked up at you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto my lap. You shifted to face me, and held out a flat square, wrapped in golden paper and tied with twizzly ribbon.

I took it, casting you a bewildered glance.

"But I didn't get you anything." I whined, more at myself than you. I hadn't even thought about presents. Dammit, I should've got you something. It could've been really cute and romantic. I really should've. I had the opportunity to be a great boyfriend and show you how much you mean to me. But I fucking forgot. Typical.

"It doesn't matter, just open it." You said, shoving the gift towards me.

I sighed, untying the bow and picking off the ribbon, taking the opportunity to give you a golden ribbon halo. Tearing off the paper, I saw what it was you'd got me. Oh no you didn't.

"Oh, Patrick...you...I can't believe... how did you even..." I trailed off, staring at the beautiful object in my hands. It was Guns N' Roses' _Appetite For Destruction_ , 12", original artwork, first pressing. Fuck.

You just beamed at me.

I stared at it for a long time, taking in every little detail. I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Well, I had. You.

I tried to form the words to thank you, but ended up just kissing you instead. _If in doubt, kiss Patrick._

Amazed, I tried not to think about how much you'd spent on this, or how hard it was for you to find.

I spent the rest of the evening trying to express the extent of my gratitude to you, and feeling doubly guilty about not getting you anything. I thought about running round to the corner shop and trying to find something, but I'd already told you I had nothing, and all they sell there is sweets and toilet roll. I was in a state of despair, looking around at all the couples exchanging gifts because neither of them were forgetful thoughtless idiots like I was.

Unless.

I had a thought.

Suddenly I knew how I could make it up to you.

-

"Night night, Pete." You sighed into my shoulder, toothpaste on your breath and dying firelight glowing in your eyes. We sank back onto the bed, after setting it up. Your mum hadn't mentioned the fact that I didn't sleep in my own bed last night, so I decided I was off the hook. I sleep better with you anyway.

"Night, Patrick. Thank you." I whispered through the darkness, shifting my head to your pillow and planting a kiss on your cheek.

"For what?"

"For the best Christmas ever."

You laughed, bopping me on the nose. "It's okay, Pete. You deserved it."

"No, let me thank you properly." My voice dropped to a low murmur. I hoped you knew what I was getting at.

Very gently, I kissed your cheek again. But this time, I kept kissing, trailing my lips across your jaw, each one lingering a little longer.

I heard your breath catch. We hadn't done this before. Suddenly, there was this whole new energy between us, a heat which whispered through the air in wide eyes and fluttering heartbeats.

You didn't tell me to stop, so I carried on, pressing my lips into your neck, before taking a chance and grazing my teeth across your feathery skin. You took in a quick breath, making a noise I'd never heard you make before. And fucking hell, it was gorgeous.

I'd left quite a few hickeys in my time, so I knew what I was doing when I sucked at your collar bone, carefully painting your pale skin purple. I'd made my mark on so many people, but you were the only one that mattered. You were my work of art. Only mine.

You stayed still, eyes closed, your muscles tightening under my kisses. I decided it was time to kick it up a gear.

Without taking my lips from your neck, I snaked my hand under the covers, slipping it under the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and slowly wrapping my fingers around you. Your eyes flew open, a gasp spilling from your lips, your body tensing. Starting to move my hand up and down, I watched as your breath quickened, your mouth slightly open and your neck arching.

"Ever been blown?" I whispered into your ear, biting at your ear lobe in between words. You looked at me with wide eyes, your brows shooting up. A shake of your head prompted my next question. "Can I...?" I asked, a sly smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

You blinked at me, giving a little nervous nod.

Grinning like an idiot, I lifted the covers off you, pushing myself down the bed until I was level with the bulge in your pants; I fingered the elastic of your pyjamas before teasing them down, exposing the hips I'd dreamed of for years. A shiver ran through you as I began to kiss your bare flesh, savouring the taste of you beneath my tongue, before swallowing you whole.

Building up a steady rhythm, I listened hungrily to the glorious sounds you made. Your high-pitched moans weaved the lustful melodies I'd been dying to hear, slipping from your spit-slick lips like water.

As my tongue danced around you, you bucked your hips, and I took the opportunity to slide a hand underneath you and run my fingers across your fucking perfect ass. However, you yelped abruptly and kicked out, interrupting my rhythm as you tried to bat my hand away. Okay, got it, no ass-grabbing. Shame.

I moved my hands to your hips, tracing delicate patterns over the bones, before ghosting my fingers across your inner thighs and eliciting another gasp from your perfect lips.

Your hands were fisted in the sheets, knuckles bleached white and veins standing out, and looking at you, perfectly under my control, I thought it couldn't get any better. Then you started to say my name.

"Pete...Pete please..." You whined, breathless and powerless. "Pete...I'm gonna..."

And with one last heavenly moan, you did.

-

We lay awake together for a long time, after you'd got me off too. To be honest, your moans were almost enough to send me over the edge all by themselves. All it took was your hand in my boxers and I was singing too.

So we just revelled in our sleepy satisfaction, occasionally exchanging sloppy kisses and jumbled words.

It was the perfect end to a perfect Christmas.

-

I'm finally home now, after staying with you all the way to New Year's, after your parents pretty much forced me to accept their invitation. In the first seconds of the dawning year, when everyone else was still staring at the countdown clock, I was staring at you, so that the first face I saw this year was yours, the first eyes I looked into were rich azure, the first lips I felt were the ones I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

I had to write down every single thing, I don't want to forget any of it. Thank you so much, Patrick. I love you, and I'm gonna tell you properly soon.

I have so many hopes for this year, more than I've had for all my other years put together.

Who knows, maybe next year there'll be an engagement ring under the Christmas tree.

With all my love,

Pete.

xxx


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning.

Patrick.

I'm not really sure what to do now.

I don't even know what to fucking write.

I guess I'll just try to figure this out.

I'd hinted that I was in love with you. I'd said it to your grandma, but more as a persuasive argument than a simple fact. Indirectly, it was written all over me; it was in the way I looked at you, the way I touched you, the way I smiled for you and nobody else. I was so completely in love with you, I'd just never said it to your face.

I've now said it three times. Well, four I guess.

-

The first time, it just sorta slipped out.

We'd just been sitting there, watching Star Wars, because what else do you watch when you're trapped inside by mid-January snowstorms? I'd arrived at your house soaking wet, having trudged what felt like fucking miles through the snow to get to your apartment building. You got me a change of clothes, and snuggled me up on the couch, making your trademark hot chocolates for both of us.

So anyway, you'd paused the movie to go see if you had any popcorn left over from the last time we had a movie marathon, but just ended up coming back empty handed, flopping down next to me with a huff.

"I swear to god I thought I had popcorn. We can't have had _all_ of it for the Lord of the Rings thing last month. I bet it was Joe. He's a popcorn addict, he took it. Or Andy. I mean, he's all fitness on the outside but I reckon even he can't resist the wonders of salt and sweet. Salt and sweet, together? I mean, who even thought of that? Why would you look at salt and sugar and think _you know what would taste good? If I mixed them together_. But I'm fucking glad someone did think it, because it's like the nicest thing. If hot chocolate wasn't so good, I'd live off of that popcorn. Fuck butter popcorn, no-one likes that. Oh wait, apart from that special stuff you put in the microwave and it makes those proper popping sounds, that's good. That's butter isn't it? I don't know. Anyway, sorry, Darth Vader was just about to say the father line, we can carry on now, Pete. Pete? Why are you staring at me?"

I blinked. I'd been completely transfixed by you, as usual. It had just dawned on me that I love it when you ramble on about completely irrelevant crap. And also, I love it when you talk and you do hand gestures without even realising it, as a lot of people who've had their drinks swept off the table have experienced. Oh and when your eyes light up because you just thought of some genius idea, and when you laugh so hard your hat falls off, and when you sit close to me and I can see every one of your eyelashes, and the way you nibble at your goddamn perfect lips. I love all those things.

"I love you."

You stared at me.

I'd hardly even realised I'd said it. Straight out, no misinterpretations. I could've made excuses, flapped about, said I didn't mean it or whatever. Then, it struck me that I _wanted_ you to know.

"You don't have to say it back. It's fine if you're not there yet. I just...thought you ought to know that. I love you, Patrick."

I looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say next, or wanting to see your reaction. I may not have had trouble saying it, but you might be having trouble hearing it.

I expected words, but got lips. You lifted my face up and kissed me softly.

I grinned against your mouth, and you grinned back, turning it into less of a kiss and more of a conjoined smile. We were so cute, it makes me sick.

You didn't say anything at all, just wrapped your arms around me and cuddled me for the rest of the film.

-

The second time, we were backstage after a show. Nothing fancy, just some late night talk show thing. We didn't have anywhere to be after, so we just flopped around, talking to various people we didn't know and signing some autographs.

Everything was going fine, I was sitting with my arms round you, you were doing something on your laptop, some important sending of emails or whatever. Every so often I'd peck you on the cheek, or rather I'd try and get your lips, but you'd lean away from me and I'd have to settle for your cheek. But I guess I didn't notice that at the time.

It was Joe who did notice.

"I wish you'd stop doing that!" He'd snapped from the other sofa, slamming down the magazine he was reading.

It was directed at me, because it was always directed at me. "What?" I shot back. I felt you shift beside me.

"Being so...clingy!"

I looked up sharply. I wasn't clingy. Was I clingy? Did other people think I was clingy? "What?" I said again.

"Oh for God's sake, Pete, you never leave him alone! You're always round his place, you fucking sleep there most nights, he never gets a moment's peace! I mean, even on stage, you're all over him. He's tryna fucking sing and you're there, shoving your face into his neck. And now look at you, wanting to kiss him every minute of the goddamned day when he's clearly trying to focus on things that are actually important! Give the guy some space!"

You'd stopped typing, but your head was still bent low over the keyboard. Andy was sat up in his seat like a meerkat, no doubt waiting for me to do something stupid. Which I did.

Reaching over and sweeping your hat off, I grabbed your face and tilted it towards me, smashing my lips into yours, not bothering to ask permission before shoving my tongue in your mouth. Because I thought you'd kiss back.

Instead, you nearly choked on my tongue, and before I knew it, your hands were shoving me away, swiping in disgust at the rope of saliva between us.

Joe waved a hand towards us, and said smugly, "Point proven."

Now, I know what I should have done next. I should've apologised to you, then to Joe, then agreed to back off a bit when it came to the kissing. But of course, I didn't do that. I couldn't stand the shit-eating grin on Joe's face, so I thought it'd be a good idea to drag you into this too.

"Patrick, don't you like the kisses?" I said indignantly, turning towards you. You'd already shoved your hat back on, pulling it low over your face.

"Well, I-"

"You never complain about them. You kiss back, don't you, tell Joe you kiss back!" I demanded.

"Sometimes, yeah, but-"

"There, you see! He does like it. So shut up, Joe." I snapped, thinking I'd won.

But he wasn't having any of it. "Oh for fuck's sake, you call that confirmation? You didn't even let him finish!" He was sitting forward in his seat now, making wild hand gestures. "Let's ask him properly, shall we?" He cooed at you, like a teacher does to a primary school kid, "Patrick, do you like it when Pete is constantly around you, insisting on playing tonsil tennis for the whole world to see?"

I looked at you. You just stared at the laptop, fingers knotting together over and over.

"Come on, Patrick, I'm your boyfriend. Of course you love having me around." I wasn't aware of the slight edge of threat creeping into my voice.

The silence was suffocating. All eyes were on you. You chewed on your lip, searching for words.

But, as always, you just gave in.

"Yeah, of course I do. I don't mind when Pete kisses me, it doesn't matter what I'm doing, he's entitled to me." You gave a weak smile, which I mistook for a genuine one, and kissed back this time when I planted my lips on yours.

Joe huffed at us, standing up and making for the door. Before he left, he turned to us, pointing his finger at me, then at you. "You, back off. And you, why do you let him walk all over you?"

You said nothing, simply lowering your gaze back to the screen.

"Typical." Joe spat, turning and slamming the door behind him. We wouldn't see him for a while after that.

I grinned at you, settling my arms round you once more and resting my head on your shoulder. We'd beaten him, we'd won.

"I love you." I whispered into your ear. I didn't notice you flinching away from my words. Or the anxious glance you cast towards Andy. Or the sadness in your smile.

And over the next few weeks, I didn't notice you slowly drifting away from me.

-

The third time was a bit different.

It all started with an April Fool's prank. Or rather, it all ended with one.

I've always loved playing tricks on people. Jumping out on them, telling them some horrible shit had happened when it hadn't, and the classic put-whipped-cream-on-someone's-hand-while-they're-asleep-then-tickle-their-face prank. Me and Joe had done that on you too many times to count.

So when April 1st came around, it was the perfect opportunity to get you really good.

You hate practical jokes. Mainly because you're usually on the receiving end. But your reactions are priceless, and you're so gullible I can pretty much tell you anything and you'll believe it.

And I intended to exploit that particular fact for this year's prank.

I went all out, not sparing any expense on theatrics, and finally finding a use for the fancy dress shop in town. I got this huge sachet of fake blood, and a sheet of those temporary tattoos people wear at Halloween sometimes. I could've just dressed up as a huge gorilla and scared the shit out of you or something, but I was determined for this prank to be fucking amazing.

When I got home, I picked out which of the tattoos I was gonna use. I ignored all the really gory ones which made it look like you had hooks and knives and stuff sticking out of your skin, and went for two simple open cuts.

I pressed them into my skin, after reading the instructions several times, putting a wet towel over the top to make them stick.

After a bit of faffing around, trying to get the paper to peel off right, I'd finished. I held my arms out and admired my handiwork.

There were now two deep-looking gashes directly over the veins on both my wrists. They looked frighteningly realistic; the blood dark and glistening inside the cuts, the skin on the outside puckered and torn. My compliments to the designer.

Tattoos done, it was onto the fun part: The fake blood. The see-through bag pulsed in my hand as I held it, the liquid dark and rippling.

Opening the little spout thing at the top, I gently squeezed a bit out, letting it run down my fingers. It even kinda smelt like blood. I watched as the droplet weaved a jagged path across the palm of my hand, tracing the ridges and troughs of my skin. It was strangely hypnotising.

Satisfied with the effect, I oozed out more of the blood, this time across the cuts in my wrists, letting it drizzle down my arms and drip onto the kitchen floor. I didn't mind getting it all over things, it would just add to the effect.

By the time I was done, both wrists looked like they'd been convincingly slashed, and there was blood all up my arms and down my shirt. Even I was surprised at how well this had turned out.

Now for the phone call. I forced myself to stop smiling, this had to be good. The success of the prank depended on it.

Trying not to get blood on my phone, I dialled your number. It rang once, twice. Three times. _Pick up, pick up._

"Hello?"

I stayed silent, just for drama.

"Excuse me, who is this?"

I waited a tiny bit longer, just long enough for you to think about hanging up, before lowering my voice to a whisper. "Patrick."

"Pete?" You exclaimed, obviously confused.

"Patrick, I'm sorry." I breathed.

"Are you okay? Pete?" An edge of concern crept into your voice.

"I'm sorry for everything. Please, forgive me."

"Pete, what's happened, what're you talking about?"

"It hurts, Patrick. Help me, it hurts so bad." I let a sob run through the sentence as I said it.

"What hurts? What's going on, Pete? Pete?!"

"I didn't think it would be like this. It didn't hurt last time. I...I think I'm leaving now."

"No! Tell me, please, what's happened?!" Your voice jumped through the octaves as panic rushed through it.

"I love you, Patrick." I said finally. I put the phone down, but didn't hang up. I could hear your shrill shouts buzzing through it even as I walked away.

I grinned, rushing back over to the kitchen. This was going so well. I picked up the half-full packet of fake blood and took a big knife out from the drawer. I squeezed the dark liquid onto the blade, which was serrated and menacing-looking, before dropping it on the kitchen floor, sending drops of red over the white tiles. Then I poured the rest of the blood into two pools a couple of metres apart, before gathering up the rest of the tattoos and dumping the whole lot in the bin.

Doing one last check around to see if there was anything else that'd give me away, I lay down on the kitchen floor, placing my hands in the two little blood lakes I'd made before. I arranged my limbs into a convincing death position, and relaxed my muscles, closing my eyes and practising breathing without moving my chest too much.

In a few minutes, no doubt, you'd rush round to check on me after my cryptic phone call, and you'd find me sprawled out on the kitchen floor, having just cut my wrists open, the blood pouring out of them and the knife that did it just inches from the hand that gave the knife its orders. This was gonna be so good.

I waited for a bit, every so often cracking my eyes open to see if maybe you'd magically appeared in my kitchen.

Hearing a car pull up outside, I snapped my eyes shut again. This was it.

The sound of your fist on my door echoed around the house. You tried once, then again. Then, I heard a key in the lock. I'd given you a key to my place ages ago, but you'd never had to use it 'till now.

The door cracked against the wall as it flew open, and I heard frantic footsteps in the hallway.

"Pete?" You shouted. "Pete!" I struggled to keep from laughing at you.

You were in the living room, heading for me. I had positioned myself perfectly so that you couldn't see me unless you came right into the kitchen and around the worktop. Only my foot would be visible to you from where you were standing now. I wondered when you'd notice it.

"Pete?"

There it is.

I could feel your footsteps through the floor as you came closer and closer, ten metres, five metres, three, two, one...

I heard your breath catch.

The footsteps faltered.

I opened my eyes a fraction of a millimetre so I could capture your reaction.

You stood there, completely still. Your eyes were wider than my lounge windows, and they were filled with pure, burning horror. Reaching an arm out, you grabbed the edge of the counter, catching yourself before you toppled over and leaning heavily against it. Your breathing became short and sharp, taking an uneven rhythm as you stared at my bleeding corpse.

Because that was the beauty of it; there was too much blood pooled around me for me to possibly have a chance of living, and you knew that as soon as you saw me. Pills, alcohol, they'd all require you to check my pulse, my breathing, but with this, there was nothing you could do.

You still tried, though.

Falling to your knees, you saw the knife, picking it up as if it were a poisonous spider. The crack of metal against ceramics cut through the air as you hurled it away from you with shaking hands.

I felt the pool of blood lap against the exposed skin of my wrist as you scrambled closer, your fingers locking around my arm. I heard the harsh rip of fabric, and knew that that was the end of my favourite tea towel, as you hurried to wrap it round my wrist. Dry, choked sobs escaped your lips as you did so; trembling fingers struggling to tie the knots. You knew it was hopeless, yet you did it anyway.

Raising a hand to your face, the sobs spread through you, and you shook all over, still clasping at my lifeless body. Moments later, I felt your arms around me, your face buried in my chest, crying tearlessly.

I decided maybe you'd been through enough now.

I opened my eyes fully, a smile spreading across my face. Lifting the wrist you'd just tried to bandage, I curled my arm around you and tapped you on the shoulder.

You looked at me.

I grinned wider. "April Fools'," I said with a laugh. Because I still thought it was funny.

You blinked.

"Fake blood," I continued, smudging the dark trails on my arm, "fake cuts." I lifted my non-bandaged wrist and showed you the two-dimensional image pasted onto my skin.

You kept staring at me.

I sat up, laughing and hugging you close to me.

I don't really know what I expected you to do. Smile, laugh, sigh in relief, maybe. Maybe you'd be annoyed and shout at me for scaring you, or even hit me. But you didn't do any of those things. All you did was cry.

The tears finally came to you as you wrapped your arms around my neck and squeezed me so tight I struggled to breathe. I gotta say I was a bit shocked, I didn't expect you to get so hysterical. Sobs rattled through you, and your breaths became desperate gasps.

Then you broke our embrace. You shoved at my chest, pushing back onto the floor, before standing up and stumbling away from me.

I watched as you sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, and buried your face in your arms, running shaking fingers through your hair. What had I done to you?

I got up slowly, peeling myself from the kitchen floor. Man, fake blood is sticky. I pulled up a chair opposite you, and patted you on the shoulder, trying my best to be comforting.

"Hey, Patrick, don't worry, it's fine, I'm fi-"

"Wash it off." You snapped, batting my hand away. You didn't look up.

My smile faltered, but I obliged. After scrubbing the stuff off my arms, all that was left of it was some red smudges here and there, and the flaky remnants of the tattoos. It was a shame, really, to get rid of all my hard work so soon.

I sat back down, hoping you were satisfied now. "Patrick? Is this better?"

You didn't look at me.

"It was just a joke, Patrick, calm down."

Your voice dropped to a whisper, and I could barely make out what you were saying. "I thought you were dead." It was no more than a breath.

"What?"

"I thought you were _dead_!" You sobbed, slamming your fist down on the table, making me jump.

You finally looked at me, your eyes rubbed raw and your face streaked with the remains of tears.

I just laughed again. "As I said, it was only a joke."

"Oh, well it was _hilarious._ Because slashing your wrists open is just the height of comedy." You spat.

I felt anger flare up within me. You can't speak to me like that. Acid crept through my tone as I spoke. "I don't know, your face was pretty damn funny."

You stood up suddenly. "Because _I thought you'd fucking died!_ I thought my best friend in the world was fucking gone forever!" You were properly shouting now.

Wait a second. "Best friend?" I questioned.

"Yeah, best friend. You know you're my best friend." You said, folding your arms.

I stood up too. "No, I mean, am I not more than your best friend now?"

You faltered. "Well, yeah, I guess, but-"

"You _guess?_ " I growled, my blood boiling hotter every second. "Patrick, we've been going out for over six months now, and I'm still nothing more than a friend?"

"No, what I meant was-"

"That phone call, it may have been a prank, but those last three words were true. _I love you_." And there it was. The fourth and final time.

I had unknowingly made my way round the table, and was now standing over you. I waited as your eyes darted about, trying to string some kind of sentence together. But if the obvious response didn't come to mind, I already knew we were done here.

"Why do you never say it back?" I whispered.

You swallowed. "Because...because I don't...yet." You tailed off.

"Then what are we even fucking doing? This relationship is headed nowhere! What's the fucking point?" I shouted.

"No, no, please, just give me time! I'll learn to love you, I promise, I just need a bit longer, that's all!" You were half anger, half desperation.

"How much longer? A day, a month, a year, ten?"

"Please, I-"

"No, Patrick, I can't do this. I need you to love me!" I demanded, shaking your shoulders.

"I will, I know I will, just...maybe let's take a little break?" You said, panicked.

I stopped. "A break?"

"Yeah, not a break _up_ , just some time, like, not a couple." You flinched away from me, scared of my reaction.

My heart twisted. No. That's not where this was going.

"No, no, don't say stuff like that! We're good, you and me, we make sense!"

"I know, Pete, and someday this'll work out, but...I need time. Please, just give me time. Please."

You blinked at me with your gorgeous eyes, and I could've stayed there, staring into them 'till next April Fools'. But they were sad. And eyes that beautiful should never be sad. I'd made them sad. Fuck, what had I done?

Maybe I shouldn't have faked slitting my wrists. Maybe I should have done it for real.

I sighed, and as the air rushed out of me, I felt all the happiness flee. Everything we'd had over the last few months, everything we could have been, it was gone.

Then you kissed me.

I stumbled backwards, catching you in my arms, sinking into your lips.

You pulled away too soon.

"Just a bit more time." You whispered, and I nodded.

"Okay. I'll wait for you." I felt tears prick behind my eyes, but blinked them back. I could do this, I could be strong.

"Thank you." You sniffed into my shoulder, clutching at the fabric of my shirt. "Pete, can you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Please never ever _ever_ scare me like that again?"

I was about to laugh, but then I saw the look of utter sincerity in your eyes, and decided against it. "I promise."

Eventually, you pulled away, and we said solemn goodbyes. I think you sensed that I wanted to be alone.

-

I am alone now. But I don't know if I'm lonely.

Because although you walked out the door, I didn't lose you. Maybe I should be angry at you, but I'm not. We're not over. Just on hold.

I can do this. I can wait. God knows I've spent so much time waiting for you, a bit more won't hurt. You said just a bit longer. I can do that. If it means you'll love me all the more, I'll do it.

This'll be good for us. For you.

Because it doesn't matter whether you're in my arms or a million miles away, you're still mine. You'll come back to me.

I'm trying to ignore the pit inside me. I'm resisting the urge to fill it with vodka. I'm avoiding thinking about what just happened, otherwise I might collapse. I can do this.

I can wait.

From Pete.


	26. Chapter 26

Hey Stump,

Did you really think I'd wait for you? Did you honestly believe that I want to waste any more of my time on you? You're so stupid.

I know I agreed. I know we said we'd just have a rest, until you were fucking _ready_ or whatever, but I've decided that I don't give a shit about you any more. If you don't love me, that's fine. I don't care. But I'm not gonna love you either. So how about you just _fuck off._

You think you're worth waiting for. You think I actually want you to love me. Well, you can stop thinking that. I'm not taking orders from you, you don't own me, I'll do what I like. _Give me time_ , my ass.

That whole thing that happened on April 1st was bullshit. Everything you said was bullshit, everything I said was bullshit. I thought you were _the one_ , or whatever, and I was prepared to do anything for you. To hell with that. Now I'll do anything to keep you away from me. I'm not waiting. You want to fall in love with me, go ahead. I won't catch you.

I'm over you. Finally. After four years chasing after you, it only took six months for me to get tired of you. You weren't as good as my imagination. As always, you were a let down. And you know better than anyone that _disappointment_ is your middle name.

Anyway, I know I'm over you, because I've got a boyfriend. And he is about as far from you as anyone could get.

-

The night after you left me, or we 'took a break' or whatever bullshit phrase you covered it up with, I was reunited with an old friend. The drinks cabinet hadn't been touched for a good few months, so that night, I had a fucking field day. I forgot how good the wine is when it lulls me to sleep, how the whiskey warms me from the inside, how the vodka burns sizzling trails down my throat. How could I have loved you when there's alcohol in the world? You're just another type of drug.

That's all you were. A numbing agent, an anaesthetic. Just something to keep me occupied before I found what I was really looking for. Because the night I ditched you was the night I met the man who changed my world.

So with alcohol in my blood and a smoke in my lungs (oh my god I'd forgotten what cigarettes taste like, you deprived me of so much), I went out. The nightclub a few blocks away was my usual spot, or at least it used to be. I hadn't been in a while.

It was a shit hole, but I'd pretty much lived there for a good portion of my life. I realised I'd missed the faint smell of drugs, the music loud enough to block out your own thoughts, the grimy bathrooms where I'd gotten so many blow jobs. I'd missed the time before you. It was so much better.

I'd already had quite a bit to drink, but when I walked in, I headed straight for the bar. They serve all that colourful shit, with the weird fruit in it, but I didn't care, I wanted everything I could get. All the smells, the tastes, the feel of alcohol had faded from my memory, and it needed refreshing.

Downing drinks every which way, and with lots more money to blow, I got more relaxed. That's when I saw him. The most perfect man I'd ever seen.

I don't remember what he was wearing, or what he was drinking, but I remember the look in his eyes. It was fire, it was excitement, heat, it was something I'd never seen in your boring face before.

He walked over to me, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder. And in that one gesture, there was more energy than there had been in my whole relationship with you.

"Hey." He said. His voice was low and husky, and I nearly fell off the stool right then.

"Hey." I said back, trying not to stare. His face was fucking gorgeous.

"Haven't seen you here before." He mused, looking at me from underneath thick lashes.

"Had a bad night." I shrugged.

"What happened?" He asked gently.

"Boyfriend. Doesn't love me. Says he will if I give him time. I'm not sure if I believe him." I hadn't meant to tell him that much.

"He sounds like a dick."

"He's not." I snapped. Because at that point, I was still in love with you. I'm not any more.

"Oh, okay. What's he like?" The guy shifted closer, so that our shoulders were touching.

"Perfect." I said simply. Glad I know better now.

"But he wants you to wait?"

I nodded, staring into my glass.

"That's bullshit, man. He better be careful, 'cause you could have anyone you wanted in the blink of an eye."

That got my attention. Up 'till now, I hadn't ever considered that anyone else might want me. You'd blinded me to my own potential.

"You don't need him. Why should you wait? What gives him the right to control you?"

I listened to his words, processing them slowly with my drunken brain before finally starting to see that maybe you were in the wrong a bit, too. Maybe you weren't so perfect after all. And he was right, why should I listen to you? "He doesn't control me..." I slurred, thinking all this over.

"Exactly. You could do so much better." He smirked at me, all kinds of feelings flitting in the air between us.

"You think so?" I asked thoughtfully, my viewpoint slowly starting to shift. What if I could get someone better than you? What if I could fall in love with someone who wasn't you? What if that person was sitting on the bar stool beside me?

"I know so." He murmured, his breath ghosting across my face. A tingle shot through me. And I can pinpoint the exact moment I forgot about you.

I turned my head and kissed him, our noses bumping but our tongues not so clumsy. He was new, he was exciting, he was fucking great at kissing. Within moments, the heat began to build up, sizzling between our lips as our hands began to roam roughly up and down one another's bodies. I'd never done this with you. You'd never let me touch you like this. Fucking prude.

The atmosphere got the better of me, and I grabbed at the hem of the man's shirt, sliding my hands across his skin. He moaned into my mouth, groping at my inner thigh and earning a growling response.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against mine and panting profusely. "Shall we go somewhere more private?" he breathed, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that there were hoards of drunk teenagers and a barman within spitting distance of our little make-out session.

"My place, a couple blocks away." I said, brushing aside the thought that perhaps I shouldn't bring a strange man I met in a shitty club back to my house. But he was too pretty to refuse.

He nodded and grabbed my hand, dragging me through the crowds and eventually out into the open air.

I'm amazed we didn't get smeared on the road as we stumbled through the streets in the direction of my house. We didn't talk, we were all over each other the whole way, ignoring the weird looks we got from passers by as we feasted on each other's mouths.

Fumbling with the keys to my front door, I hurried to get this gorgeous creature in my house. He gripped my waist tightly and kissed at my neck as we tumbled inside, kicking the door shut as we scrambled to get more of each other's skin. Suddenly, clothes felt so uncomfortable.

We fell onto the couch, breathing heavily in between deep kisses, tangling our limbs together in order to bathe in our warm bodies. I smashed my lips into his repeatedly, pulling at his hair and clawing at his back. I felt more alive than I had done in five years.

It was never like this with you. You were a feather; one mistimed breath and you were gone. I was so gentle with you, always, your lips rose petals, your skin silk. There was nothing wild about you. No passion, no life. I'd never seen you fully naked, you'd never even let me be in the room when you got changed. Everything about you was so delicate, so fucking fragile, and I got tired of it. But this...this is what I like.

To share an animalistic passion with another person, to hear them growl at your touch, to be so utterly absorbed in one another that you forget where you are, who you are, is so much better. If you were a fire, he was a firework.

My hands slipped under his shirt, and without missing a beat, he ripped it over his head and reconnected our lips, before his beautifully long fingers got to work on my own shirt. He slowly revealed my tattoos, kissing along my thorn necklace, trailing his teeth along my chest and sparking a deep moan in my throat.

He's so beautiful. I couldn't help but marvel at his toned chest, running my hands up and down as he continued to plant kisses all over me. The muscles in his back flexed as he moved, because he wasn't fragile, he was strong, a force of nature, and I let myself be swept away by him. Everything was different with him, the way he moved, breathed, the high cheekbones, piercing eyes. His bulging biceps and rock hard stomach. You were always just kinda squishy.

He started unbuckling my pants and my heart jumped at the way this was going.

A flick of his wrist and a hand in my boxers later, I was electrified, his touch rippling through me. I moaned again, and was about to shout for him when it hit me.

"Wait, what's your n-name?" I breathed, stuttering slightly due to the fact that he'd just replaced his hand with his mouth, and it was damn difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He pulled off of me, laughter lighting his eyes.

"Mikey Way."

I smiled. _Mikey,_ I thought, _it's hot. He suits it._

"Yours?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Pete Wentz."

He simply grinned and went back down on me, and I writhed underneath him, finally able to weave his name into my moans of pleasure.

-

A while later, we were left slumped on the couch, buck naked and slick with sweat. Our arms were slung around each other, legs tangled and chests heaving to a steady rhythm. Wow. That was fucking amazing. Or, that was amazing fucking.

I always thought the first guy I'd fuck would be you. And I'm so, so glad I was wrong. Because he was better than I'd ever imagined. Better than you could ever be.

He slowly fell asleep in my arms, as I planted lazy kisses on his neck, stroking his soft brown hair, his lean form and angled features reminding me just how different he was from you.

I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

-

When I woke up, he was gone.

I felt my heart sink through the floor, missing his warmth and his fire and his passion. _Why did he leave me? Please, don't let him leave me._ I panicked, wondering what the hell I did wrong, writhing around under the covers. _Wait, I'm under covers?_

I sat up, looking around and blinking as if I had a grudge against my eyes, feeling a seething headache split my skull in two. I'd forgotten how drunk I was before he showed up. I was on the couch still, but a duvet had been drawn over the top of me and a pillow placed underneath my head.

"Coffee?" A voice called from the kitchen.

"Ugh?" was all I managed to blurt out.

I heard laughter. "I'll take that as a yes."

A few moments later, there was coffee in my hands and caffeine in my blood, and after taking two aspirin, I started to feel somewhat human again.

He sat beside me, talking about something I wasn't listening to. Whatever it was, it was making his colourful eyes light up and his smile spread through his features. He's so beautiful.

And that's when I started to think that maybe it was all over. The hangover was fading, I'd had it for five years and not even realised it 'til today, I was finally waking up to the fact that I deserve better than you. Why chase after some fat idiot in a hat who tries to kid himself he can sing, when I could be right here with Mikey, the angel sent to snap me out of my stupid crush? Fuck, I think I'm in love with him already.

He even asked me to be his boyfriend. I'd made it very clear to him that I'd ditched you for good, and that made him happy. We exchanged numbers, and a whole lot of secrets, in the hours before he had to leave. He did it in the cutest way too, all blushing and quiet and worried about what my answer was gonna be. But he shouldn't have worried, I'd said yes before he'd finished the sentence.

Then he kissed me again. I love kissing him. Unlike you, he doesn't hesitate, doesn't look around to see if there's anyone watching, even when we were on my doorstep in full view of everyone. He said he was so glad this wasn't just a one night thing, and he'd love to see me again, and that I was hot and funny and clever. He said he's proud to have me, _proud_. Did I ever make you proud, Patrick? Of course I didn't. But I don't care any more. Your opinions, your decisions, your existence doesn't matter to me in the slightest.

I have Mikey Way. My goddamn hero. He's in a band too, actually, something about chemistry. I've never heard of them, but I'm sure you'll say you have. Because I'm going to introduce him to you. If you think for one second that I'm going to hide him, to spare your feelings or whatever, you've got another think coming. Your feelings aren't worth sparing.

I want to see the look on your face when you see my new, perfect boyfriend. 

You know what? I hope you do end up in love with me. I hope you see what it's like to cry over someone until you've no tears left to give, I hope you end up a depressed wreck like I did. It'll be hilarious. 

Farewell and fuck off,

Pete. 

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

To my darling ex-boyfriend,

It's been a while. Eight months and twenty-three days, to be precise.

I've still got my gorgeous Mikey. I don't know how I've managed to keep him this long, he's so perfect. I've now dated him longer than I dated you.

You're the same as you were. I hardly even notice you anymore. You're just a peripheral character.

It's so much better with Mikey. We don't do stupid cute stuff like dates or Christmases or movie marathons. We just get smashed or stoned or both, fuck each other's brains out, then leave. I can't remember the last time I was sober for more than twenty-four hours. It's fucking great.

And do you know what's even better? You're jealous. I see the way you look at me. When we were on tour, you'd hardly ever talk to me, just steal glances from behind your laptop. When we were on stage, I'd nuzzle your face, trace my hands down your body, kiss at your ears, just to see you flush pink. Your breath would hitch and you'd stumble over the words, it was the funniest thing. But it was all for show. As soon as the lights went out, we'd all be off to drink ourselves to death at some party, and you'd slope back to the bus, probably to cry over me. Just like I did for you.

But you missed your fucking chance. I bet you regret ditching me now, don't you? Now that I've got my life back on track, now that I have a boyfriend who's got more talent in his left buttcheek than you have in your whole body.

I'll never forget the first time you met him.

-

It was a few weeks after we'd got together, and we had a meeting about the upcoming tour.

Boring as always, it dragged on for hours, fucking bus rentals and flight planning and whatever. I'd been complaining about it to Mikey for a good portion of the last few days, and as an incentive, he'd offered to pick me up after and take me to his house. He also said he'd bought some handcuffs. It was quite difficult to concentrate on the meeting when thinking about what _that_ meant.

He'd pick me up right outside the building. Which meant that you couldn't avoid meeting him. And I was going to make sure you met him.

I'd been really nice to you those past few weeks, letting you know that it was okay that you needed time, and of course I'd wait for you, basically just regurgitating whatever bullshit you said to me when we broke up. Because it was a break-up. You just didn't know it yet.

We walked out of the building together, you all smiley and bubbly, because you were happy back then, me scouring the parking lot for my knight in shining armour. You were talking about some shit I wasn't interested in, I was laughing along.

"...but Pete, they were talking about maybe South America, like, how cool would that be? We could play in Brazil, or, or Chile, or Ecuador! Isn't that where the nice cocoa beans come from? Imagine how good the hot chocolate is over there, I bet it's like, the best thi- who's that?" You stopped suddenly, staring ahead.

You'd spotted him before me. He was leaning against his car, waving at us, that beautiful smile on his face.

"That's Mikey." I shrugged. I kept walking towards him, and you trailed after me, suddenly silent.

"Who- Who's Mikey?" You kept staring. I don't blame you, he's hot as hell.

Just for drama, I didn't answer 'til we were right in front of him.

"This is my boyfriend." I announced, making said boyfriend giggle.

And your face, oh my god. Your expression didn't change, but everything was there in your eyes. Hurts, doesn't it?

"Hi, Pete, how was the meeting? And hey, Pete's friend." He grinned at you. Fuck you, his grins are all mine. You gave a weak smile back.

"Boring as shit. They want us to go to fucking South America? I mean what kind of loser wants to go there? This is Patrick, by the way." I said, shoving you in the shoulder.

"Great to meet you. So you're in the band?"

You nodded, tearing your gaze away from his face and settling it on your shoes. "I sing, and stuff."

"Oh, so you're the one with the amazing voice. Pete's showed me some of your guys' stuff, it's really good." He said sweetly. He's so nice, but I couldn't believe he was wasting compliments on you. I decided to intervene.

"Mikey's in a band too. They're fantastic, I've been to one of their shows. He plays bass, like me, and his brother sings." I boasted. Your eyes were still on the floor, but I knew you were listening. "His vocals are like nothing I've ever heard. They're so passionate, and the range, oh my god. To be honest, he makes all the other singers I've heard look like complete shit."

That got your attention.

You looked up at me, confusion and anguish touching your eyes, before you took a breath and shook it off. "So, uh, how long have you two been, uh...?" You trailed off.

"A few weeks. It's nearly our month anniversary, isn't it, babe?" I cooed, grabbing Mikey's hand and lacing our fingers together. We grinned at each other, before I lowered my gaze back to you. You were staring at our interlocked hands like the nerdy kid stares at the school bully right before they get beaten up.

"Mikey?" Called a voice from somewhere.

"Joe?" Mikey shouted back, a smile lighting his face. Joe and Andy were walking towards us, and Mikey ran over to them like an oversized dog. "Man, I haven't seen you in ages!"

They did the typical slap-on-the-back man-hug, punching each other on the shoulders.

"You two know each other?" I called over to them.

"Yeah, we go way back! Met this dude at a show back before the band." Joe yelled, before introducing Andy and getting lost in conversation. I smiled as I saw Mikey laughing. He's so hot.

I turned back to you. You were staring after my boyfriend, knotting your fingers together.

"Gorgeous, isn't he?" I remarked, studying your face for any signs of envy. There were too many to count.

"Yeah..." You said wistfully, gazing back down at your shoes.

"It's funny, I met him the night we broke up. It was like losing a dime then finding a dollar." I laughed. You didn't.

When you stayed silent, I decided to torture you even further. "He's amazing. My god, you should see him in the bedroom. He's a literal angel, but also kinda devilish, if you know what I mean." I elbowed you in the side, winking.

You still didn't react, just stayed staring at the floor. Man, what does it take to get a fucking response out of you?

Wait. I know.

"And his body, too. He's so lean and toned, it makes such a change." I said, malice creeping into my voice. You looked up. I let my eyes flick down to your bulging belly, lingering for just enough time for you to follow my gaze.

You flushed tomato red, turning your face away from me and pulling your hat down lower. But before you did, it was too late. I'd already seen your bottom lip wobble and your nostrils flare, the tears gathering in your eyes. That's more like it.

"Well hello again," I said to Mikey as he, Joe and Andy wandered towards us. But my smile disappeared when I saw that Joe had a really weird look on his face.

"So," He said, with a great degree of authority, "You're dating Mikey now?"

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. I hadn't even thought about Joe. Mikey must have told him. So he knows me and you broke up. I prepared myself to be skinned alive.

I nodded slowly.

"So you two aren't together any more?" He gestured at me and you.

I shook my head.

"Why?"

To be fair to myself, I only twisted the truth a little bit in my answer. "Well, Patrick just didn't feel the same way about me as I did about him, so we agreed that maybe it was best if we stayed friends. So now I'm with Mikey. Don't worry, it wasn't a messy break-up or anything, we're good, aren't we Pat?" I slung an arm round your shoulders and gave you a friendly shake.

You nodded obediently, finally looking up at Joe and smiling wide. Fucking hell, that looked almost genuine. You're a better actor than I thought you were.

He narrowed his eyes at you, just to make sure, but you fooled him good, beaming at me, then back at him.

"Okay..." he said, still a little sceptical.

"Look, Joe, the way I see it, isn't it better like this? It's like you said all along, if we split up badly, it would ruin the band. Now I don't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt, you don't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt, and Patrick doesn't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt. And, let's face it, you love my new boyfriend." I let go of you and snaked my arm around Mikey's waist.

Joe sighed in defeat. "It's true, I really do." He reached out and high-fived Mikey, who grinned. "Okay, well, I guess that's everything sorted. Well done, Pete, you picked a good one."

He gave my boyfriend a final poke in the chest, before walking off to his car and yelling goodbyes back at us.

That was easier than I thought.

Ha, now you didn't even have Joe on your side.

Andy left next, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze and us a short wave.

Now you were back to being the third wheel. One more little thing to make you squirm, though.

"Okay, I better be going as w-" You started, but stopped abruptly as I brought Mikey's face to meet mine and kissed him, tangling our tongues together and wrapping my arms around his neck. I moaned a little into his mouth just for added effect, before pulling back and looking at you. I wanted so bad to see the look on your face.

But you weren't there. You were already pacing away from me, towards your car. I'd wanted to make you cry, goddamnit, now I'd never know if I'd succeeded.

I could have sworn I saw you wipe your eyes, though.

Smirking after you, I let go of Mikey.

"So _that's_ your ex. I thought you said you'd ended on good terms?"

"We did." I snapped, gesturing at the car and dragging him over to it.

"Then why did he just run off crying?" He walked round to the driver's side and got in.

"I don't know." I shrugged once we were both in the car. "He cries at everything. Pussy."

"He seems sweet though."

"So? Just 'cause he seems all cute and candy-floss on the outside, doesn't mean he's not a dick underneath." I snapped, louder than I meant to.

"Alright, sorry." He held his hands up in defeat. "Just saying what I think."

"Well don't."

"But," He carried on cautiously, "isn't it kinda unhealthy to be around each other all the time? I mean, with the band and everything? When I first met you, he'd got you cut up real bad, so..."

"So what?"

"So I assumed that you'd stopped talking to him when you got with me. I thought the evil ex-boyfriend who hurt my Pete was out of the picture completely, and now I find out he's the lead singer of your band." His voice was still level. Mine wasn't.

"Why, are you jealous or something?"

"Should I be jealous?"

"Ha! Jealous of _Patrick_? Mikey, no-one's ever been jealous of Patrick. You're worth a hundred of him!"

"Pete, isn't that a little har-"

"No, it's not, it's the truth! Now can you stop talking about my stupid ex and start the fucking car so we can go home and fuck each other senseless!" I yelled, slamming my fist down on the dashboard.

There was a small silence. Mikey breathed out slowly.

"Okay. I'm down for that." He gave me a smile and a wink, before complying to my demands.

The handcuffs came in real handy that night.

-

Ever since you found out that I'd moved on, found someone better than you, you pretty much blanked me out for the rest of the year, only talking to me when you really had to. We'd be all nicey-nicey on the outside, for Joe and Andy and everyone else. But your smiles are sad and your laughs are empty.

And you're so in love with me.

I couldn't be sure at first. Maybe you were just pissed at me for fucking someone else the night we broke up, maybe it was the fact that he's so hot and you were jealous. But, over the next few months, the signs began to show. The circles under your eyes, the way you walked like there was a tonne of bricks on your back, the way you tried to avoid me but couldn't help yourself staring. I know the symptoms, and they were written all over you.

I wrote a song about that, for the new album. I've written lots of songs about you, and you know it. It's my subtle way of reminding you how over we are. I wrote those lyrics for you to choke on.

But we still smile for the cameras all the same. The press knew we were together, and it knows we broke up. It also knows I'm going out with "hottie, Mikey Way" from "that other emo band." You always hated all that stuff, we mostly kept to ourselves but there were always rumours. You'd read the odd article, with some headline about how out of your league I was, and I'd tell you to forget about it because they've got it all wrong. But I'm not there any more. You ditched me, so you don't get to cry on my shoulder. And the headlines are even worse now. They know Mikey's better than you, and they aren't afraid to say it.

When we were on tour, I'd see you reading them. Hunched over your laptop in the dark, breaking the _never google yourself_ rule, chewing on your lip, the articles blaring out at you. With every click, you'd get closer to tears. Before, I would have run over to you and slammed the screen shut, hugged you and kissed you and told you that everything they said was lies. Now, I'd just smirk. Because now, I know it's all true. And so do you.

-

I don't really know why I wrote this. I mean, it's not like I need to get over you anymore.

I guess I'm just bored. Today sucks, I can't go out anywhere 'cause everything's shut. I've always hated Christmas. Why the fuck does the world have to stop every 25th of December?

So instead, I'm just sitting here, drinking and smoking, alone. Mikey's at his folks. He didn't invite me. I tried not to read into that too much.

You invited me. It caught me unawares, to be honest. We'd hardly voluntarily spoken in months, and suddenly at practice, you sidled up to me and asked if maybe I wanted to come to yours for Christmas again. I obviously declined. I told you I was gonna be at Mikey's. You nodded and shuffled away, and that was it.

I didn't even realise what day it was when I woke up. Everything blurs together nowadays, and especially now that Mikey's so far away, in fucking New Jersey.

It's not been the worst Christmas ever, though.

About eleven o'clock in the morning, when I was only just conscious, I heard this sharp little knock at the door. _Who the hell wants to visit on fucking Christmas day?_ I trailed down the stairs, cursing under my breath and imagining all the creative ways I could kill whoever it was, but when I finally managed to wrench the door open, there was nobody there. All there was was a box.

It was all wrapped up in red paper and gold ribbon, all twizzly at the ends. At first, I thought it was some joke, and there'd be something horrible inside, like shit or ants or something. I opened it right there on the step, tossing the wrapping paper inside my house as I ripped it off.

Inside, there was just another box. _Oh great, I'm really in the mood for pass the fucking parcel._ But as I lifted the lid, this amazing smell wafted up out of it, and I scrambled to see what it was.

The box was full of cookies and cakes and most importantly, mince pies. They looked hand made, icing sugar dusted over the top of them to make them look all Christmassy. The mince pies even had little pastry holly sprigs on them. I smiled for the first time in a while.

My thoughts went straight to Mikey. He must have dropped back from his parents' house, just to give me this. He's so sweet. I love him so much. I ignored the fact that his parents' house is halfway across the country. 

Looking deeper into the box, there was something else. Buried under the cakes, there was a mug. _What the fuck did Mikey put a mug in there for? What am I supposed to do, drink the fucking mince pies?_ Lifting it out, I saw that there was this light brown powder at the bottom of it, with a little pack of what looked like marshmallows too. A note was attached. It read:

_Add hot milk._

_Merry Christmas._

Then I got it. It was hot chocolate powder. He'd given me a little brew-your-own drink kit. I grinned at how cute it was. I didn't take him to be such a sap.

I brought the box inside and put all the cakes on a plate, before following the note's instructions. Not gonna lie, the hot chocolate was pretty damn good. Kinda tasted like the stuff you used to make for me.

It was the only present I got, but it was still the best. It made me feel a little less lonely, and a bit warmer on the inside.

Anyway, that's Christmas.

I'm gonna drink it all out of memory, just like I did with you.

Merry fucking Christmas, Patrick.

From Pete


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: I swear to god this is going somewhere.]

Dear Fatrick,

Today is April 1st.

Today I pulled the best prank I've ever pulled on anyone.

Today I cut your heart out of your chest and made you eat it.

I wasn't going to do any tricks this year. I thought, _why bother?_ Last year's was so good, why try to top it? But I did. I fucking did.

You're in love with me. I've known that for a while. But you've never ever even come close to admitting it. Until today.

I was determined to get it out of you. I was set upon forcing you to spit out those words, because then you'd know what I'd been through. There's not many things that hurt more than telling someone you love them and not hearing it back. I wanted you to experience that first-hand.

So I thought about it. For ages, I just sat on my couch and thought about how the hell I could get you to say it. Of course, I could just ask you, but I wanted to make it painful. It had to be planned, I wanted to savour the look on your face as your world went up in flames. And in order to do that, I first had to convince you that I loved you, too. That was the only way you'd say it.

After a lot of discarded ideas, I settled on one which was probably the simplest, but also the most fun. For me, anyway.

But I needed to wait. It had to be done at just the right time, and in the right way. So I waited a couple months, 'till after the album dropped, because then you wouldn't be practically living in the studio any more. You'd used the music to block everything else out, but now, the music was done. You had nothing to hide behind, no excuses about _working on the record_ or whatever.

Then, March came to a close, and I thought, what better date to do this than April Fools'? It was a prank, after all. And it was so perfect.

-

Unlike the last prank, I didn't need any special effects, no fake blood. This time, if there was gonna be blood, it was gonna be real.

So I just rocked up to your flat, late afternoon, so I knew you'd be awake, and knocked on the door. I used the few seconds before you opened it to try to get into character, curling my hands into fists and rubbing my eyes hard so they looked at least a bit red. It didn't have to be an Oscar-winning performance, because you'd probably believe anything I said. And you did.

I heard some shuffling around, then a loud bang and a groan. I tried not to laugh, biting on my lip in an attempt to regain my composure. The erratic footsteps got louder, until finally, the door opened, and you peeked out. You'd obviously only just got up; you were dressed but your hair was a mess and your glasses lopsided. You'd missed a button on your shirt and the cuffs were undone; hell, there were still pillow creases in your face. It took all the will in the world not to grin at you.

Your eyes widened at the sight of me. I hadn't been to your place in a very long time, had hardly spoken to you for two months, and now I was on your doorstep. I could see all the questions spinning through your mind, but you looked at my red eyes and my hunched shoulders and you knew something was wrong.

"What happened?" You asked gently, opening the door fully.

Wow. I was kinda expecting you to shout at me. You were at perfect liberty to; I'd spent the last year making your life a living hell. But all seemed forgotten as you beckoned me inside, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder. I felt a little tingle buzz across my skin, and told myself it was just because I was excited for the prank.

I stared at the floor as you guided me into your lounge, occasionally throwing you the odd sad glance, just for drama. You perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, looking at me with curious eyes as I went over what I was going to say.

Once I had figured out the best word order, where I was going to stutter, when to look up at you and when to stare at my shoes, I spoke, slowly and carefully.

"I...uh...br...broke up with Mikey."

There was a small silence as both of us wondered what was going to happen next.

"I'm so sorry, Pete." You said after a while, and hell, it sounded pretty genuine.

I just nodded and shuffled my feet about, to look all forlorn and broken and all that shit.

"Can I ask...why?" Your voice was so soft, I nearly forgot what I was gonna say next.

I sighed, for effect. "Well, I...I realised that maybe I want to be with someone else." I gave you a small glance, to let you know what I was getting at.

You chewed on your lip, as if you were wondering who it was. But you weren't fooling anyone, I saw the way your eyes lit up when I looked at you, the way you sat up a little straighter and lifted your head a little higher. I bit back a smirk.

"Patrick, I think...I think letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made."

You froze. Then, as you processed my words, your eyebrows shot up and a smile spread across your face, huge and bright and real. I allowed my mouth to be pulled into a small, bashful grin. "Do you really mean that?" You breathed, blinking at me with wide eyes.

I nodded, and took a step towards you. You took that as the all-clear, leapt off the couch and ran at me, jumping into my arms and squeezing me so tight I thought I'd collapse. You buried your face in the crook of my neck, your hair tickling my cheek. I couldn't help but smile into your shoulder as I heard your joyful giggles. I'd expected more questions. _Why have you treated me like shit for a year? Why are you only telling me this now?_ But you just lapped up my lies like an overly-loyal dog. You're so stupid.

I lowered you back onto the floor, trying to keep my smile fresh, as you beamed at me, unwinding your hands from my neck and wrapping them around my waist instead, sighing into the hug like it was the first breath you'd taken in months.

I let you squeeze me tight for a while, stroking your hair and rubbing circles in your back, because that's what you're supposed to do.

Slowly, you stirred in my arms, and untangled yourself from them, keeping hold of my hands and grinning at me, before carefully pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss me. But I moved my head just in time. I figured kissing you would be cheating on Mikey. Kissing you on the lips, anyway.

I decided it was time for the fun part of the plan.

Moving my hands down to your waist, I kissed along your jaw, biting at a spot just below your ear that made you gasp. I sucked more marks into your skin as I trailed my lips down your neck, wanting to leave as many reminders of me as I could. Your grip on my arm tightened with each graze of my teeth.

Taking a step closer to you so that we were chest to chest, I pressed my thigh lightly between your legs, and felt you tense up. Pressing a little harder, I earned a small moan, and you tilted your head back to allow me to bruise more of your skin.

Then I pulled away. You tried to kiss my lips again, but I dodged. That's all you were getting from me. Now it's my turn.

I forced a loving look into my eyes and gazed at your face, bringing my hand up to trace circles on your cheek. You smiled wider, and I swear you were probably about to cry from pure happiness. Well, give me ten minutes, I'll give you something real to cry about.

Moving my hand from your face and placing it on your shoulder, I raised a sly eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at my lips. Shrugging off any illusion of delicacy, I shoved you to your knees. You yelped, looking up at me in confusion before I showed you exactly what I was going to make you do.

I undid my belt, watching as realisation crept into your face. You smiled up at me again, but you were nervous, I could tell. I can always tell. Your eyes darted from my smirk to my crotch as I lowered my pants, raising my eyebrows at you expectantly.

You chewed on your lip, before reaching out and fumbling with the waistband of my boxers, not sure what to do with your fingers. I huffed at how hopeless you were, rolling my eyes and yanking my boxers down. _Do I have to do everything myself?_

With one hand, I grabbed the back of your head, and with the other, I shoved myself down your throat.

You felt so fucking good around me, despite the fact that your tongue was all over the place and you obviously had no goddamn idea what you were doing. I did all the work for you, moving your head back and forth at a steady pace.

I moaned softly, thinking about how much better you looked with my dick in your mouth, and picked up speed, thrusting my hips forward and making you gag. My grip on your hair tightened and you let out a muffled whimper, either out of pleasure or pain. I didn't care which. I didn't care if I ripped out your vocal cords as long as I got my orgasm.

I could feel it getting nearer; I fucked your mouth harder, your face flushed red and your eyes screwed tightly shut. It was better like this, with you on your knees, moaning in time with my thrusts, and I felt the heat pool in the pit of my stomach. With a shout, it hit me, and I felt your throat tighten as you swallowed.

Finally, I pulled you off of me, grinning from my high and panting with pleasure. I untangled my hand from your hair and your head dropped, gasping for air with quick and shallow breaths.

Still smiling like, well, a guy who's just gotten a blowjob, I pulled up my boxers and pants and stared down at you, head still bowed. I had so much power over you. You were nothing but a pathetic slave. But I couldn't tell you that just yet. I needed to keep up the lovey-dovey façade for just a little bit longer.

"Patrick," I breathed, "That was amazing."

You looked up, and seeing the smile on my face, beamed at me. You really were like a dog; as soon as you saw how pleased your master was, your eyes lit up and your cheeks went round as apples. I half expected you to roll over and wag your tail.

But then, your expression faded a bit. You frowned, your brows gathering as if you'd just realised something serious and important. Biting your lip, you looked up at me with those big eyes, and spoke slowly and carefully.

"Pete...I think...no, I know...I should have told you this ages ago, but..." You trailed off. _Urgh, fucking speak already._

"I love you." You whispered.

There they were. The words I'd have given anything to hear, the words I'd dreamed of for years.

I was quite surprised you'd said it so soon; I thought I'd have to do a lot more acting before you admitted it. My work here was now done. I'd got what I came for. The words rolled from your lips like honey from a spoon.

But I didn't care any more. I ignored the little flip my heart did when you gazed at me, every inch of your faced soaked in pure, unrelenting adoration. I felt hatred, nothing else. You mean nothing to me.

You started to get up, but I placed a firm hand on your shoulder. Don't act as if we're equals. You were born to be beneath me.

Not breaking eye contact, I leant down towards you, my face hovering just above yours. I reached out a hand and brushed my thumb across your cheek, hearing you hum contentedly as I cupped your face. You tilted your lips in an attempt to meet mine, your eyes fluttering shut as I moved closer. But I sure as hell wasn't going to kiss you.

I moved my lips past your cheek and settled them next to your ear, suddenly dropping my hand from your face but tightening my grip on your shoulder. I spoke quietly, gently, but my words were laced with poison.

"April Fools'."

I pulled back quickly to watch your reaction.

Your eyes flew open, filling with anxious confusion. At first, a smile touched your lips, because you didn't quite understand the situation. But you soon would.

"What?" You said stupidly, searching my face for answers. And you certainly found them.

My smile was cold enough to kill all the sparks in your eyes.

I watched you struggle for a few more moments, before deciding to put you out of your misery. Or plunge you into it.

"Patrick, oh, Patrick." I sighed, staring down at you with dramatic disappointment. "Did you really think I'd ever want to get back together with _you_?"

Your eyes widened. The part of you that thought this was a joke was slowly dying.

"I didn't break up with Mikey. I've never regretted letting you go. It was a trick. Just an April Fools'."

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. The light in your eyes was nothing but ash now. "I...but...no...I don't..." You stammered. I really hate it when you do that.

Looking down at you, how utterly pathetic you were, your stupid big eyes and your quivering lips, I was reminded of every fucking thing you'd done to me. You'd made me cry so many times, made me want to scream and run and die all at the same time. And yet here you were, on your knees, begging for me to make it better. To say _hey, don't worry, I'm only kidding, I love you really._ Well guess what, I don't love you, and I've been wanting to hurt you like this for too fucking long.

Originally, I'd planned to hurt you with words alone. But words didn't really seem enough anymore. My fists shook by my sides as my stare bored into your eyes, wishing I could burn holes right through them.

Barely thinking about what I was doing, I flashed a small grin, before lifting my foot and kicking you hard in the stomach.

You let out a scream of pain, crumpling at my feet like a paper bag. Still smiling, I gazed at your face, jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut, your hands clutching at your belly.

I waited patiently for you to stop whimpering on the floor, refusing to open your eyes and face me. Until my patience disappeared.

"Listen to me you little shit!" I shouted.

You raised your head, finally opening your teary eyes.

"You mean _nothing_ to me!" I said it to myself as well as to you. " _I love you, Pete, I love you!_ " I mocked, imitating your stupid whiney voice. "I knew you did. I just wanted to get you to admit it."

You bit your quivering lip, and I could see you were trying your utmost not to cry. But I was going to make sure you failed.

I had one last little show for you. I took my phone from my pocket and punched in the number, a malicious smile on my face. Staring into your wide eyes I put the phone to my ear, listening until a familiar voice buzzed down the line.

"Hey, Pete?"

"Hello, Mikey." I said, my tongue flicking across my lips.

"What's up?"

"Where are you right now?"

"Uh, the studio..." He said, confused.

"How quickly can you get to my house?"

"Um, like...an hour, maybe?"

I spoke loudly, just to torture you to your limit. "An hour? Okay, that's perfect, baby."

"What are you planning?" He laughed.

"Just get home, baby, I need your body, I need your fucking perfect ass and your gorgeous hips. I'm gonna fuck you so hard when I see you."

"Fucking hell, Pete, are you drunk?"

"No, baby, I just want you so bad. You're better than anyone else, _everyone_ else." I shot you a smirk, savouring every ripple of pain that flitted through your eyes.

"Okay, I'll get home." Excitement rose in his voice.

I was about to hang up, when I thought I'd put one more little knife in your chest. I spoke slowly, as if every word was worth savouring. "I love you."

Mikey giggled. "I love you too!" He said, but I'd hung up before he finished. I needed to get a look at your face.

You hadn't moved from the floor, still on your knees, one hand propping you up, the other clasped over your stomach.

You looked utterly heartbroken. Just like I'd planned. Your eyes were so full of tears that one small movement would send them streaming down your face. But you just stared at me.

I sighed. My work here was done, I'd torn your dignity to pieces and your heart too.

"Okay, I'd better be off now. I have a boyfriend to fuck." I grinned. "Thanks for the blowjob. Although, I've had better. That's turning into a bit of a catchphrase amongst your lovers, isn't it Patrick?" I cocked my head to one side, looking at the crumpled mess of a boy in front of me with fake pity in my eyes.

I headed towards the door, before remembering something I'd planned to say.

"Oh, and by the way, if you even _think_ about blabbing to _anyone_ about this with that dirty little mouth of yours, Joe, Andy, your family, a random guy on the street, _anyone_..." I paused, smiling right at you. "I'll tell the paparazzi how much weight you've gained."

You looked at me like I'd just put a bullet through your heart.

That was when you lost the little composure you'd managed to cling onto.

Your bottom lip trembled and finally, the tears fell, streaking your face with silvery trails. I'd won.

I decided it was time to leave. Yanking the door open, I stole one more glance at your shaking form before I slammed it behind me and punched the air. I couldn't believe how well that had gone. Hands down, best prank ever.

Laughing like a maniac, I made off down the stairs. But before I did, I had to hear the aftermath, pressing my ear to your door. And sure enough, from your lounge came the sound of someone sobbing their lungs out, harsh chokes interspersed with gasps for air and dotted with weak whimpers. I smiled. I'd broken you.

-

Mikey's going to laugh so hard when he hears about this. Your face, oh my god, it was the funniest thing I've seen in a very long while. I'm waiting for him to get home, I've got the lube and the handcuffs all ready.

I'm on top of the fucking world, because now you know. Now you know what I went through when you rejected me time and time again, now you know how it feels to be completely worthless. How it feels to love someone who doesn't love you back.

Happy April Fools'. 

I hope you cry yourself to death.

From Pete.  


	29. Chapter 29

  


Patrick.  


Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I've no doubt about that.

-

After the April Fools' prank, I drove home, in the low orange light, to go have amazing sex with Mikey. I was smiling the whole way. I was so proud of myself, to have humiliated you like that, it was like a dream come true. The horror in your eyes had seeped through my brain like a drug and made me buzz from the inside out.

A shower was definitely in order. I needed to get rid of the scent of you; you were all over me, your fingers still brushing my face, your collarbone still under my lips. The hot water helped burn you away.

I sat in nothing but a towel whilst I furiously scribbled down everything that'd happened, wanting to capture your shame in ink. I got black all over my hands because the water from my skin kept smudging the stupid pen. I enjoyed it all the same, though.

When I was finished, I tried to find something sexy to wear, but failed miserably, discovering that my clothes don't actually really fit me anymore. Everything's baggy, even my world-famous skinny jeans. So I just topped up my eyeliner and lay on the couch in my boxers, trying to look vaguely alluring.

Staring at the door, I begged it to open, because I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed Mikey to sweep through the door and make me love him. I needed him as proof that I was over you, to give you one last slap round your stupid face.

Because despite the shower, all I could think about was you. How your lips felt around me, how soft your cheeks were. How much I'd like to press my thumbs into your throat, to rip the blue eyes right out your head. I hate you.

"Hey, Pete," Mikey called, shutting the door behind him with a snap that pulled me from my reverie.

"Mikey!" I sat up, jumping at his voice.

He laughed at me, dumping his stuff down in the hall and kicking his shoes off. When he walked in, I made sure to take in every detail, his sharp eyebrows, angled jaw, straight white teeth. The way he stood with his weight shifted slightly to the left, with his hands slung in his belt loops. I told myself how beautiful he was. How much more beautiful than you.

"Are you okay?" He asked lightly, and I realised I'd been staring at him. But it wasn't like he hadn't been staring at me.

"Yeah, you?"

"Great," he shrugged. His gaze swept over my almost naked body, and I could see the lust in his eyes, clear as day. "Uh, so, do you wanna, like...you know..." He tailed off, raising an eyebrow at me.

I did, I really really did, but first, I needed to tell him something. "You won't believe the day I've had," I said, smirking just at the thought of it. Mikey was gonna laugh so goddamn hard.

"Why, what happened?" He asked, wandering over to the couch and flopping down beside me. I sat up more, practically bouncing in my seat.

"Okay, so you know how it's April 1st?"

"Yeah..."

"And you know how it's April Fools' Day?"

"Uh huh..."

"Well, I-"

"Oh God Pete, what did you do?" he sighed, lolling his head back but shooting me a grin. He knew my pranking habits better than anyone. Well, maybe everyone except you.

"Okay, okay," I said, preparing to tell my story like a little kid telling his parents he's just got a gold star at school, "so basically, you know Patrick?"

"Your ex, yes, I am familiar with him." Mikey hummed, crossing his arms.

"Well I went round his house and told him that I'd broken up with you and I wanted to be with him and he got all happy and huggy but don't worry I didn't kiss him or anything so I'm not cheating and then I made him give me a blowjob and he said he loved me and then instead of saying it back I just said 'April Fools'' and his face was priceless and it was so funny because he actually thought I liked him and it was like the best prank ever because he totally believed everything I said." I gushed, clasping my hands together in front of me as I awaited applause, probably.

Mikey stared at me. "What?" I mistook horror for awe.

"I know, it was so good. So how was your day?"

He blinked. Flexing his jaw, he sat forward and stared right at me. "Let me get this straight. As an April Fools' prank, you pretended to get back together with your ex just to make him get you off?"

I rolled my eyes. "No! Well, kind of. But I also got him to admit that he loved me, which was the main point."

"He...he said he still loves you?"

"No, not _still_ , because he never loved me when we were together. But, soon as we broke up, he started to fall for me, and I fucking knew it, so I just wanted to get him to say it. To like, embarrass him and stuff." I said brightly.

Mikey made this little chokey laugh. "So he said it to you...then you said it was a prank?"

"Yeah, duh. Have you not been listening?"

"But...he must have been crushed..." He trailed off, staring around at nothing in particular.

"Oh yeah, he was, it was hilarious. He cried so much, especially after I kicked him." I smiled at the thought, the feel of my boot in your belly.

"What? You...you..." I didn't see the panic on his face.

"Kicked him, yeah, in the gut, then I said some stuff that he's sure as hell not gonna forget anytime soon."

He jumped up from the sofa, rubbing at his clothes as if trying to brush the dirt off them. "Pete...that's...you're insane..."

"I know, it was pretty good. I don't know how I'll top it next year."

I frowned as he moved away from me, pouting at him and holding my arms out. He just took another step backwards.

Feeling suddenly cold and exposed in just my boxers, I remembered why I'd invited him round in the first place. "So are we gonna fuck, or...?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He let out an exasperated rush of air. "Wha- No! No, Pete, we're not _gonna fuck!_ How the hell could you do something like that?"

My brows knitted together, I had no idea what he was so shocked about. "Do something like what?"

"Pete...oh god...if you can't see what's wrong with what you did, then I don't...you need help!" he ran his fingers through his hair and paced around the room.

I watched him from the sofa, trying to figure out what the problem was. "Look, Mikey, if you think I cheated on you, you're out of your mind. It was a prank, it doesn't count. Plus, you give way better blowjobs than he does."

"No, no, that's not the point! Pete, you fucking tricked him into sex, isn't that like, rape by deception?"

I laughed. "Ha! Don't be stupid. He loved it."

Mikey looked at me like I'd pulled a gun on him. "Oh, God... and...then the kicking and the insults...do you even realise what you did?"

"Yeah, I taught him a lesson. Never be a dick to me."

"No! You're crazy! That's abuse, Pete! You've probably scarred the kid for life! You...I can't...oh god..." He looked really stressed now, his hands pressed into his eyes like he was trying to think of what the hell to do next.

"Oh come on, you're being stupid. I just made him cry, that was it. He'll get over it soon." I leant back on the couch, wanting this conversation to be over and the wild animal sex to start.

I did not expect what came next.

"Pete, we're finished." he said. He'd finally stopped pacing and was standing straight in front of me.

I laughed a bit. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I mean, things hadn't been working out for a while but this...this makes up my mind."

"What?" I said again, my muscles suddenly tight as canvas. "What do you mean, _things haven't been working out for a while_? We're fine, you and me."

He sighed. "No, we're not fine. At least, I'm not fine."

"Why?" I barked.

"Because...well, you're just...a bit too much for me, Pete. You get so angry, you do horrible things sometimes, and now I just...I can't be with someone who would do something like this to another person."

I shrugged. "Everyone gets worked up. I just deal with it more...outwardly. And it doesn't matter who's on the receiving end."

"Then why is it that every horrible thing you do is directed at Patrick?"

I avoided that question.

"But we've been together so long!"

"I know. A year exactly, actually." he sighed.

 _It's our anniversary? Wow._ I'd completely forgotten. I'd been so busy ruining your life it had completely slipped my mind. "Oh. We should do something to celebrate." I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.

His fists tightened. "You see! You don't love me at all! You love my body. You love the fucking. But you don't love me. Let's face it, Pete, we're both only in this for the sex. We've stayed together all this time because we don't know what the hell else to do. But you...this just proves that you're exactly the same as you were a year ago, a psychotic depressed alcoholic who's still hung up on his ex!"

I stood up, my hands shaking at my sides. No-one speaks to me like that. "Shut your fucking mouth." I growled.

"But it's true! You-"

"Fine, you're right, I don't love you! I never did and I never will! But you're the best I ever had, and I know I'm your best too. And for the record, I don't give a shit about my snivelling fat fuck of an ex!"

He stared at me for a few seconds, before holding up his hands in defeat. "Okay, Pete. I'm done here." He walked away, towards the front door, picking up his stuff slowly. He looked kinda scared, if I'm honest.

I almost didn't believe he'd leave until he yanked the door open, grabbing various hoodies from the floor which probably belonged to him at some point. He dug around in his pockets, finding a shiny gold object and hurling it at me. It was the key to my house I'd given him. It settled on the carpet, along with my composure.

"Fucking go then! I don't care! You'll never find someone like me!" I shouted, waving my arms about like a toddler having a tantrum.

"Good! I don't want anyone like you! You're fucked in the head, Pete! And I'm getting out before you ruin me like you ruined Patrick!" he yelled back from the doorstep, before slamming the door behind him.

I screamed curses after him, even picking up a stray shoe and chucking it in the direction my now ex-boyfriend had escaped. It hit the wood with a harsh slap and flopped to the floor, as did I, curling my fingers into the doormat as growls ripped through my teeth.

The sound of a fading car engine was the last I heard of Mikey Way.

-

The next morning, I woke up on a bed of broken bottles and a head heavier than a tonne of bricks. I could feel every pulse of my heart like a gong in my ears.

Pressing my thumbs into my eyes, I tried to clear my fuzzed vision, propping myself up on my elbows. I wasn't even on the couch; I was still lying on the floor by the door, the bristles of the mat sticking into me as I shifted about. I was fucking warm too; still in just my boxers, my limbs sprawled out around me as I lay slumped in the hall. My god, I was a sorry sight. But it wasn't like I didn't do this often. I just wasn't usually on the doormat.

Using the ridges in the door as grips, I hauled myself up, the room instantly spinning. I braced my hands against the walls, dragging in long, slow breaths.

Screwing up my eyes to make sense of the dizziness, I staggered down the hall and into the sitting room, heading for the kitchen. The feel of the cold tiles under my feet was bliss, and I sighed with relief. Reaching for the tap, I splashed water on my burning skin, flinching at the sensation but loving it all the same.

After feeling my way around the kitchen and managing to take two aspirin without hospitalising myself, I headed upstairs, my mind fixed on the thought of falling into bed and forgetting everything.

Then the phone rang.

I mentally banged my head against the wall and trailed back down the stairs, casting a longing glance up at my bedroom. I could have let it ring out, but I couldn't stand not answering it, so I muttered under my breath as I trudged back into the lounge and picked it up with a sigh.

"What?" I growled.

"Pete? Where the hell are you?"

"What?"

"I said, where the hell are you?"

It slowly dawned on me that it was Joe's angry buzzing voice drilling into my ear. "I'm at home..." I drawled, really not in the mood for answering questions far too complicated for this time in the morning.

"Pete, why aren't you here?"

"Why aren't I where?" I slurred.

"In the fucking tour meeting you dick!" He scathed.

Oh. Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that. "Uhh...oops...it's just I wasn't feeling well, so I thought it'd be best if I got some sleep, it's just-"

"You fucking forgot, didn't you? And, let me guess, hung over again? There's life outside of bottles, Pete!" He yelled down the phone.

I would have been offended if every word of what he'd said wasn't excruciatingly true. I didn't know what to say, but Joe spoke for me.

"Get your ass down here right now!"

I sighed. "But-"

"Ten minutes, be here!"

And with that, the phone went dead. I resisted the urge to throw it across the room.

After fishing out some clothes and cleaning up my smudged eyeliner, I looked something close to human. Didn't feel it though.

I avoided my reflection in the mirror as I bathed my face in cold water, trying to get rid of the boiling sensation behind my eyes. But I had to get through this. I couldn't show myself in this state to the other guys.

Only then did it dawn on me that you'd be at this meeting. Shit. I'd planned on only speaking to you like, a couple weeks after, minimum, to give you time to get yourself together and stop being a baby. What would I even say to you? Would you even look at me? Would Andy and Joe suspect something? They've already sensed the less-than-friendly emotions flying about between us, and if either of them ever found out what I did to you, they'd tear me to pieces.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I concentrated on trying to smile without looking insane, walking without stumbling, and blinking without falling asleep. It's harder than it looks.

Grabbing my keys and phone and stuff from the counter, I gave myself one last attempt at seeming fine. I ran a hand through my hair and smoothed my shirt down, before heading out the door and concentrating on driving in a straight line.

After pulling into the parking lot and hurrying towards the ugly grey building in front of me, I banged through the glass doors and down the corridor, trying to find the room that contained three irritated band members and an annoyed team of managers.

I almost ran past it at first, tripping over my own feet when I saw the familiar face of our tour organisation guy through the glass bit of the door. I took in one last deep breath, before grabbing the door handle and stepping inside.

Everyone looked at me. The chatter stopped and silence fell like a blanket over the room. I simply shuffled inside and found an empty seat, muttering apologies to various people as I passed them. Slumping down in one of the sinfully uncomfortable chairs, I flashed a sheepish grin round at everyone, indicating for them to carry on with a wave of my hand. I could feel Joe's glare burning into me. 

Gradually, the chatter started up again, and I was able to shrug off a bit of the embarrassment I'd felt when I walked in.

Then I looked across the room, to the far corner of the table, and saw the only person who hadn't been staring at me. Who hadn't acknowledged me at all, in fact.

You sat low in the chair, your head hung and your hat pulled as far over your face as it would go. Conversations were going on around you, but you weren't talking to anyone. I pretended not to feel the pang of guilt that shot through me.

The meeting seemed to go on forever, people writing stuff down as if they actually cared, asking me stuff once in a while as if I actually cared. I mean, we just make the music for fuck's sake, I don't want to know about bank accounts and fucking border control. I spent most of the time with my heavy head resting on my hands, because I'm not sure it would've stayed up by itself.

You were just the same as me, but worse. I swear you didn't even look up the whole time we were there, even when you were asked for your opinion. You'd just mumble the shortest response you could think of and keep staring at the ground. I tried to catch you out, to get you to raise your head by asking ridiculous questions or making loud noises, just so I could see your face, but to no avail. It was as if your gaze was glued to the floor.

"Right, so, that's everything for now, I'll contact you with any further details nearer the time, but if no-one's got any other questions, I think we can all finally get out of here," our tour manager boomed, clapping his hands together and looking around the room.

Slowly, people started to gather their things, collecting papers and notepads until the room was left bare. Except for you. You hadn't moved.

Me, Joe and Andy had been arranging the next practices, because we were all still pretty shit at playing the new material, apart from Andy obviously, and were gathered down one end of the table as the final few people trickled out of the room.

"Okay, well if everyone can do that then that's great. Patrick, is that cool with you?" Joe asked, and we all looked down the other end of the table at the lonely figure.

"Yeah..." You nodded slightly, shifting in the chair.

Andy squinted at you and pursed his lips. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah." You lied.

"You sure? You've been kinda quiet. Is everything alright?" he said gently. Good old Andy.

"Um..." you hummed, fidgeting around whilst you thought of what to say next. "I...I guess I just..."

I sighed as you struggled for words like you always do. But wait. What if you were going to tell them? What if you didn't care about my threats and planned to spill everything to Andy and Joe? I tapped nervously on the table as I waited for you to finally string a sentence together.

"I want to quit."

Wait, what?

All three of us exchanged confused and worried glances as we tried to figure out what you meant.

"What?" Andy asked, voicing mine and Joe's thoughts.

You looked up slightly, just enough for me to see your teeth mauling your lips. "I want to quit the band."

My stomach dropped. What the fuck were you playing at?

Joe let out a little nervous laugh. "Don't be stupid, no you don't."

"Why?" Andy breathed with disbelief.

"I don't...don't feel good about it any more." You shifted about in your seat.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Joe said indignantly, crossing his arms and his eyebrows. He shot me a worried glance, and I mirrored it. He didn't know it, but I knew exactly why you wanted out, and it wasn't because you didn't _feel good about it any more._

You stayed silent, picking at the calluses on your fingers.

"Is this for real?" Joe barked, rising from his chair and moving round the table towards you.

You nodded, looking up at him.

I finally saw your face. It was as if you were dead. Your already pale skin was so washed out that it looked translucent, like tissue paper. Your eyes were puffy and the grey circles around them made it seem even more like you'd come straight from the mortuary. My grip on the arm of the chair tightened.

"But you're the fucking singer!" Joe yelled, looming over you. Your gaze returned to the floor. "What are we supposed to do, get Andy to sing?!"

"Patrick," Andy intervened, keeping his voice level, "Why do you not feel good about this? We're at the top of our game! I mean, I know the new album didn't do as well as Cork Tree, but that doesn't matter. I'm sure the next one will be twice as successful. You can't let a stupid thing like statistics get you down."

"I'm not, I just...don't feel like I want to do this." Your voice was so weak I could have snapped it with one finger.

Joe groaned, "For god's sake, Patrick, you're not leaving! I don't give a shit about whatever's going on with you, just get over it and stop being like this! You've been so fucking sulky these last few months! Stop being so goddamn selfish, this is a band, a team, you can't just ditch us because of your stupid feelings. Get yourself together!" By the look in his eyes, he was quite close to giving you a slap.

Andy stood up too, probably in case he had to break up a fight. "Come on, Joe, don't shout. Give Patrick some space," he said, like a mother to her kid. Joe huffed, but backed off, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. 

As they made towards the door, Andy looked at you long and hard. He was worried. I think all of us had tried to kid ourselves that it was a joke, and now it was becoming clear that maybe you were serious. He cast a small glance at me, as if I'd know what was up with you, which I did, but I just shrugged. He knew there was something deeper here, something you weren't letting on about. He knew it would take more than just a bad feeling to drive you to this point.

"Patrick, please, just give it a bit more time. You're not thinking straight, this isn't what you really want." I think he was saying it mostly to himself. You didn't look up, but he gave you a sad smile all the same.

After a short wave at me, Joe tugged him out the door, and as he did, he mouthed something at me, which looked a bit like _talk to him._ They began to mutter to each other with worried eyes, before the door slammed shut and everything went silent.

I looked over at you. You stirred from your chair and shrugged on your jacket, a little too quickly, and began to hurry towards the door, avoiding my gaze. I didn't notice you wince as you stood.

But there was no way I was letting you leave. The room or the band. I felt the familiar anger flare up inside me, coursing through my blood and chasing the hangover away. I hadn't expected this. I'd expected silence, dirty looks, and stunted conversations, but _this._ That you'd actually rather run away from me, cut me out of your life, my god, it was cowardly.

But you can't run away from everything.

I stood up suddenly, my chair shooting backwards, my fists clenched. Taking a few large strides, I stood in front of the doorway, my arm braced against the wall like an iron bar between you and your escape. You stopped dead.

A few seconds of silence passed. I waited for you to say something, to actually defend yourself instead of laying down and letting everyone walk over you.

But, obviously, you didn't. You just kept staring at your shoes. I struggled to keep my anger from boiling over.

"You're not fucking leaving." I growled.

No response.

"You're nothing without us. You don't have the balls to leave."

Your head stayed bowed. I snapped.

"Fucking look at me, you coward!" I grabbed your face, my nails digging into your jaw. With the other hand, I ripped that stupid hat off your head and threw it as hard as I could across the room. You had to look at me now.

But your eyes were squeezed tightly shut, your jaw clenched and your breathing harsh and heavy. You didn't struggle, didn't try to bat my hand away, just refused to look at me. It was your form of retaliation. And it got me even angrier.

With a snarl, I shoved you up against the wall, fisting my hand in your shirt and hearing you gasp as your head snapped backward.

"What do you want from me?!" You cried, your face turned away from me as if I was going to hit you.

"I want you to fucking look at me!" I shouted, gripping your shirt tighter.

You took in a slow breath, and finally, _finally,_ you opened your eyes, your steady blues meeting my wild browns. They were big, and sad. And scared. Really, really scared.

But I didn't register that. I just smiled, because I'd won. And I so nearly let go of you. I got so close to just walking away, to being satisfied with what I'd done to you and not laying another finger on you. But you just had to speak, didn't you?

"Please don't hurt me." It was a breath, a whisper. But it set something off in me, more anger cascading down upon me, suffocating my ability to be reasonable. And once that was gone, you really didn't stand a chance.

"Hurt you? Hurt _you?_ Are you fucking kidding me?!" I shoved you harder against the wall. "Have you any idea how much you hurt other people?"

When you didn't respond, I just shouted louder into your face. "No, it's all about poor little Patrick, the perfect angel who can't do anything wrong. But you do everything wrong, don't you? You're a selfish, bratty little shit who deserves everything he gets!"

Your eyes were squeezed shut again, so I kicked you in the shin to make you open them. You let out a pathetic little whimper.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" I teased, and suddenly, a new ingredient was added to my crazy cocktail of emotions. Uh oh. Anger and lust make dangerous partners.

But now that was all that was on my mind. I followed whatever the hell my brain was telling me to do, and moved my hands to your chest, one pinning you to the wall, the other undoing the top button of your shirt. I shot you a smirk, and your eyes widened.

If you hadn't been struggling before, you sure were now.

You clawed at my hands, pushed at my chest, kicked out at me in any way you could to get me off you, but my grip was vice-like, there was no way you were getting out of this. I used my free hand to grab your flailing arms and twist them behind your back, pushing you further into the wall to keep them there.

You were trapped, and both of us knew exactly what was going to happen next.

I undid the next two buttons, and your breathing got more and more irregular, your face screwed up as if you didn't even want to think about what I was about to do to you.

"Please, please don't." You whispered, your eyes shut tight. I could see tears clinging to your eyelashes. I laughed.

Pushing back the pale blue fabric, I saw the reddish-purple marks I'd left on you the day before. They looked so pretty against your paper-white skin, and I decided to make some more. I sunk my teeth into your exposed collarbone.

You took a deep breath. Then you started to shout. "Help me! Please, help! Somebody, please-"

The knot of anger inside me tightened. I clamped my hand over your mouth, reducing your desperate yells to muffled mumblings. You opened your eyes, and they were begging me to stop, to let you go. I just shook my head. I wasn't giving you up for anything.

You shut your eyes again and leant your head back against the wall. You were defeated. I pressed my lips back to your neck, and you didn't stop me.

I trailed my hand down your chest, feeling you flinch when I got to your stomach. Undoing three more buttons, I made marks further down than I had yesterday. Your body tensed every time my teeth touched your skin. It was a wonderful feeling.

After another two buttons, I'd reached the top of your belly, and you froze. But seeing the smooth plains of your chest laid out in front of me, it sent electricity coursing round my body, so I opened your shirt further to expose more of you.

I didn't expect the first time I'd see you shirtless to be like this. I guess I'd always pictured it as being really romantic, I'd kiss you and you'd kiss back, and before we even knew what was happening, hands would be slid into jeans and tangled through hair. Then I'd probably take off my shirt, and pull at the hem of yours, and you'd giggle and be all shy and cute at first but then once I'd told you how beautiful and perfect you are you'd let me gently lift it over your head and we'd kiss and cuddle and it'd be so-

No. Focus on what's happening _now_.

As I kissed my way across your stomach, undoing buttons as I went, I felt your previously limp body stir. With every inch I covered, you squirmed more, shaking your head to try and get my hand off your mouth. It was no bother for me, I simply pinned you harder into the wall, but you kept wriggling, relentlessly trying to stop my lips from going any further. I would soon find out why.

But right at that moment, I was consumed by lust, heat glowing deep within me, and I knew exactly what I wanted. Shooting you a smirk, I started to undo my own belt buckle, smiling wider when panic filled your face and you started to make muffled sounds through my hand.

I undid the last few buttons of your shirt, nipping and biting at your skin, until I pressed my teeth into a spot just above your navel. You let out a cry unlike any of the others; a scream of pain that leaked through my fingers and made me open my eyes in alarm.

At first I looked up at your face, contorted and streaked with tears, but I soon realised that that was not where I should've been looking.

Casting my gaze down to the spot I'd just made my mark on, I stopped dead.

The skin of your stomach wasn't white like the rest of you. It was an angry shade of purple. There was a bruise, a fucking massive seething black bruise, pooling in the centre of your abdomen and stretching up and along one of your ribs.

Shit.

I did that. _I did that._

Reality hit me like a freight train.

Here I was, standing in front of the person I cared about most in the world, who'd stuck by me no matter what, been my shoulder to cry on, and instead of embracing you, I had one hand clamped over your mouth and the other rammed into your shoulder. You were covered in bruises that _I'd_ given you. Your head was filled with words that _I'd_ said. Those tears streaming down your face had fallen because of _me_. _What have I done?_

Everything I did to you, everything I could have done to you, it took the breath from my lungs and left me to suffocate. I couldn't go on like this.

The way I treated you for the past year, the insults, the teasing, that horrible prank and now this. You were so pure, and now your perfect skin was stained with my fingerprints. Mikey was right. I did ruin you.

My breath caught in my throat, and I was thrown out of my thoughts. My smirk had dropped and horror at what I'd done was spreading through me.

I loosened my grip on your shirt, and took my hand from your mouth. I put my arms to my sides and stepped away from you.

Letting out a brief gasp of air, you relaxed slightly, flinching as you untangled your arms from where they'd been pinned and yanking your shirt shut.

Our gazes met for a brief second, your terrified, red-rimmed eyes boring into my shocked ones.

Then you bolted.

You shot out the room like a bullet from a gun, and I didn't stop you. The door slammed shut, the sound bouncing off the walls before sizzling into silence.

I broke down.

Grabbing one of the chairs that was strewn around the place, I sunk into it, burying my face in my hands as long held-back tears sprung to them, as if they'd been waiting for the opportunity. I had no shoulder to cry on any more, just the cold, hard table, but I cried all the same.

What had happened to me? What the fuck had I become? The harsh epiphany was so cliché, and yet nothing about what I was feeling was exaggerated. I could blame it on you like I used to, tell myself it was you that was making me into a monster. But it was never you. Everything I'd done had come from me, and only me, and now I felt the weight of it all falling down upon me.

I had a family, once upon a time, but I fucked them up. I had you, for a little while, then I fucked you up too. Then I had Mikey, who knew I was going to fuck him up, and left before I could. After that, I chose to come back and fuck you up some more. Only this time I'd driven you away for good.

What was the point of me? Do I exist solely to violate other people, namely the only person who actually gave a damn about me? All my anger was gone, replaced with nothing. I was an empty shell, and the towering walls I'd built to shut everyone out were now just trapping me in.

I sobbed until I had no tears left.

  


Then, from behind me, I heard the door creak open.

I looked round, rubbing my eyes, and nearly passed out when I saw who it was.

You'd come back. Why in god's name would you come back?

At first, you just peeked your face around the wood, watching me as if you were entering a lion enclosure. Then, you crept inside, closing the door gently behind you, but keeping one hand on the handle. You didn't come any closer, just kept your eyes on me, like my vision was based on movement.

I just sat there in disbelief, wondering what the hell you were doing. Then, softly and carefully, you spoke.

"Tell me."

No. No, no. You couldn't stay here. I'd only end up causing you even more pain. 

"Go, Patrick. Leave, now, before I can hurt you again." My voice was so raw it barely sounded above a whisper.

You didn't move.

"Seriously, look what I just nearly did!" My voice wobbled with fresh tears. "Please, I'm not worth the risk!" I stared at my hands like they were snakes that could strike at any moment.

You didn't even blink, just said those two words again.

"Tell me."

And seeing the determined look on your face, the desperate hope that maybe the Pete you used to know was still here, somewhere, I knew that this was it. All or nothing. And with a deep breath, I chose all.

"Okay. Everything I'm about to say is the absolute truth, none of that April Fools' bullshit, no exaggeration, no lies." My voice cracked as I spoke, but I carried on anyway. "Patrick, the first time I met you, I thought you were wonderful. I remember, we went round your house and you played for us, and your voice, oh my god. You were nerdy, you were quirky, and you could sing like a goddamn angel. And I think I knew, back then, that you were gonna be the one to change everything.

"I wanted to ask you out for ages, but I never knew how or when, or where. But when I'd finally built myself up to do it, you... well you were with that girl, that Emma, and I had to watch as she got all your smiles and your kisses. I was so damn jealous of her. And you wouldn't stop talking about her, and I just couldn't take it. That's why I hurt you so bad on the night I...you know...overdosed. I couldn't stand that there was someone else, and I know you didn't know it but I blamed you for my own stupid feelings, like it was your fault I was so hopelessly besotted with you.

"I thought you'd hate me after that. But you didn't; you helped me get better, gave me hugs and told me I was wonderful and I tried, I really did, to save our friendship and get over you. But I couldn't. Every time you'd look at me, I'd just melt, like the idiot I was, and then when you broke up with her, all I wanted to do was make you see that I was the one you could fall in love with. I was so determined, and I had it all planned, too. D'you remember that time on tour when I cooked you the soup and the pumpkin squares and stuff? Well, that was supposed to be my _grand gesture_ , or whatever. I so nearly kissed you, told you everything, but then that stupid Charlotte girl had to turn up and ruin it all. That's why I was so angry, not whatever lie I told everyone.

"But then things started to change. You reminded me why I'd fallen for you in the first place, with the way you picked up on my fucked up sleep pattern. And then, and then you and Charlotte broke up and she came up to me after and said all this cryptic stuff about you liking someone else and gave me this meaningful glance and I knew it was because that someone was me.

"And then that time at Joe's, when Andy dragged him out to get pizza and left us alone, because that sneaky bastard had known all along that I liked you, and he also knew that you liked me too, and when you told me, I honestly thought I was dreaming. That first kiss, it was like, well, it was like heaven really. And so were the next few months; that stupid fail of a date, that Christmas.

"But then I guess you know the rest. You didn't love me back, and I couldn't stand it. That's when I started to get bad again. I got manipulative, tried to force you to feel the same way, it was all wrong. Then I did that stupid, messed up April Fools', just to see how you'd react if you saw me dead on the floor. I don't know why I did that. Actually, I don't know why I did a lot of things. Like when you asked me to wait for you, and I said I would, I wasn't lying to you, I really was prepared to wait. But I didn't. I did my usual, got drunk and went out to go fuck some random person.

"It's funny, I was so sure I was over you. But then I guess most of the time I was too drunk or hung over to think straight anyway. Mikey was the first guy I saw after you left, so I just clung to him, because it was better than being alone. I didn't have to do that, I could have given you time, you would have been there for me if I needed it, but some new fucked up logic told me that if I was with someone else, if I made your life a living hell, then those feelings would go away and I'd be back to normal.

"So I did just that. Made fun of you, hurt you, teased you for a whole fucking year, pretending that nothing had ever happened between us, because it was easier like that. I even kid myself that that Christmas present you gave me, you know the cakes and stuff, was from Mikey. I never thanked you. I guess it's too late now. My thanks isn't worth anything any more.

"Then, I-" My voice dropped to a broken whisper, "I realised that maybe you had fallen in love with me, at last. And I could have...I could have made things right again. Broken up with Mikey, and run back to you, like I should've done a long time ago. But, of course, I fucking didn't. I decided, it would be fun to...to force a confession out of you with that fucked up prank. I said all those horrible things to you, treated you like shit, and I didn't think I could do any worse. I thought that was it, I was done with you, and we both knew it.

"I wasn't done, though. Oh, and Mikey walked out on me last night, after he found out about the April Fools'. He told me how fucked up it was, and I should've listened, I should've. He knew, I think, all along, that we didn't have a future. I didn't love him, he didn't love me. He also knew who I really loved, and who I'd loved all along. But I didn't know it.

"I promise you, when I came to this shitty meeting, I didn't think it would end like this. When you said you were gonna quit, though, I just snapped. I swear to god, when I said all those things, did all those things, I was out of my mind. And...and I can't believe I nearly..." I choked up just thinking about it. "I'm so sorry, Patrick, I'm so, so sorry. Oh god, I just...I can't tell you how much I regret the past year. We should still be together, still be happy, but we're not because I fucked it up. I hate myself for how I've treated you. I don't deserve your company, let alone your sympathy.

"I'm sorry I had to tell you all this. But, I guess the truth is, and I should have told you this from the start, instead of pretending I just 'liked' you, the truth is that I've been in love with you for the past six years. And I'm still in love with you. I love you, Patrick."

I breathed out, as if exorcising a demon. My voice was hoarse from talking for so long, and I felt completely exhausted. I'd just poured my soul out for you. It was time for your verdict.

Flicking my gaze up towards you, I saw that you hadn't moved. You were looking at me with your mouth slightly open, your eyes wide and glassy. Understandably, you were completely speechless.

After about a minute of unbearable silence, you tried to form some kind of words.

"All this time...you...you..." Your voice died in your throat. 

"I loved you." I finished. 

"But...but the things you said, and when you...you hurt me..." Your eyebrows knitted together, trying to get your head around my fucked up confession.

"I know. I know, and I hate myself for it. I spent four years infatuated with you before you even gave me a second glance. I blamed you for everything. And I'm so, so sorry. I'm a monster." My voice sank to a whisper.

"F-Four years..." You repeated. "I had no idea..." 

"I know," I whined, more tears spilling down my cheeks. "It killed me every single day."

Then, you unwound your fingers from the door handle, and took the tiniest step towards me.

As if I'd just heard gunshots, I sprung from my seat, backing away from you with my hands held out.

"No, don't come closer, I don't know what I'll do!" I yelped, wanting to jump out of my skin and become someone else entirely.

Something hard hit my back, and I realised I'd reached the far corner of the room. I stared at you, wanting to get myself even further away from you, and you stared back. It occurred to me how completely fucking gorgeous you are, and that I'd failed to tell you that. All those hateful things I'd said, they weren't even a bit true. Looking at you now, you were the most beautiful damn thing I'd ever seen.

Then that collapsing sensation made a reappearance. I felt fresh tears I didn't know I had spring to my eyes, setting my head on fire. Engulfed in growing sobs, I sank down the wall and crumpled in a heap on the floor. I must have looked like complete shit to you.

Being so broken, drowning in my own self-loathing, I didn't hear the tentative footsteps move closer to me. Neither did I hear the soft sniffs of someone else who had too many tears to keep hold of.

But when I eventually peered through my wet eyelashes to reacquaint myself with reality, I saw you, sitting a short distance away from me, your knees hugged to your chest and your eyes watching me with daring caution.

Between us, there was roughly two metres of space. You were still scared, I could tell that from your defensive body language, and quite rightfully so. You had every reason to be scared. Hell, you had every reason to yell at me, to kick the living shit out of me, or to simply leave me here and never see me again. You could even call the police and get me behind bars, where I belong.

All you did, though, was sit just out of reach. As I looked at you, the longing in my eyes was plain as day, and now you knew the extent of it. You knew I'd wanted you from the very beginning, and what I'd done to try to get you. I felt the shame fuel the sobs, and buried my head in my knees, my arms lying limply about me as if they'd given up too.

The minutes passed like hours, the silence collecting my tears as they soaked into my jeans. I'd never felt so empty in my life.

Suddenly, I felt my own hand move without me telling it to. Opening my eyes, I saw your fingers slowly entwining themselves with mine. You'd shuffled the tiniest bit closer, your hand trembling slightly as it picked up my own and squeezed it softly. My gaze met yours, and you smiled. It was weak, it was fearful, but it was a smile nonetheless.

My heart did that little skippy thing it used to do when we were together. I took a chance and shifted towards you.

But it didn't pay off. You quickly took your hand away and scooted backwards, your reaction as instant as a rabbit's when it hears a loud noise.

"I'm sorry." I croaked, moving back to my original spot in the corner. My heart sunk through the floor when I saw the fear in your eyes, all because of me. My gaze returned to my shoes.

"It's okay." I heard you whisper. Your voice was so soft I could have used it as a pillow.

I tucked my hands underneath me. I decided then and there that I wasn't going to touch you without your permission. Everything was up to you now.

"We can try again." You mumbled, shooting me a shy glance from over the top of your knees. Taking a deep breath, you held out one of your hands, and I took it as gently as I could. I could tell by the concentration in your eyes that you were resisting the urge to snatch it back.

Slowly, though, you grew more accustomed to it, adjusting your hand so that it fit perfectly in mine. We must have looked ridiculous, sitting apart from one another with our hands joined across the gap, as if we were attempting some weird yoga pose.

But gradually, you moved closer to me, until your face was within touching distance. It was like you were, bit by bit, growing acclimatised to my presence, after I'd shattered every shard of trust you had in me. It was going to take time to even become friends again, let alone get back to where we were, if you even wanted that.

"Listen, Patrick, you should go. You don't want to be around me right now. In fact, you're better off without me altogether. You can find another bass player easy, there's loads that outdo me by a mile."

"No."

"But Patrick, I-"

"I'm not leaving." You tightened your grip on my hand as if to prove your point further.

I let out a long sigh. "Why do you trust me?"

You stayed silent. But I think I found my answer in your eyes.

Our knees were now very nearly touching, and I wanted to hug you so bad it was killing me. Instead, I slowly reached my hand out towards you.

"Can I?" I asked softly, fully prepared for you to say no. But my chest filled with warmth when you looked from my hand to my face and nodded warily.

At first, before my fingers even touched your skin, you instinctively flinched away from them, and my hand recoiled swiftly. Then, after a few seconds of mental preparation on both our parts, I reached out again, stroking your cheek with the pad of my thumb and wiping the remnants of tears away. Your eyes fluttered shut and you let out a little sigh of what was hopefully pleasure. I smiled, savouring the feel of your feather-like skin beneath my fingers.

"You are so beautiful," I whispered, and I felt your smile through your cheek. 

Very, very gently, I cupped your face, and gradually guided it towards my own. Sitting up, and letting my eyes fall closed, I felt your breath ghost across my face. I left it up to you to decide what would happen next.

With a short intake of breath, you leant in, and touched your lips to mine. It was brief, it was cautious, but it was everything I needed. It was like resurfacing after being held underwater.

Impulsively, I placed my hands on your sides without realising what I was doing. I felt you tense up, and quickly removed them, opening my eyes and pulling my face away from yours.

"I'm sorry." I sighed, kicking myself for my own naivety.

You didn't respond, instead, you took my hands and put them back where they'd been, wrapping your own arms around me and pulling me into a hug. It wasn't like your normal, bone crushing ones, but it was a hug all the same. And I melted into it, into you, until I was pretty much crying into your shoulder. 

"I've missed you." I mumbled into your shirt. 

"I've missed you too." You said softly. 

"Patrick," I asked suddenly, "do you think I can get better?"

"I know you're going to get better." That made me smile.

"If I do, will you come back to me?" 

"I'm already yours." 

 I grinned and hugged you tighter, wanting you to be as close to me as possible, holding you gently as you curled up in my arms, and I in yours, as if we were the only two people in the whole world. 

We stayed like that for a long while, slumped in the corner, wound in each other's warmth. I'd forgotten how blissfully cuddly you are. I think I must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because everything after that went kinda hazy.

Eventually, you stirred, and said something about there being another meeting in this room soon. I'd completely forgotten where we were. You guided me to my feet and led me out the door and into the parking lot, but I was so tired I hardly remembered it. We'd spent a long while in that room, I had no idea what time it was, but I'd felt so many different things, said and did things I'll regret for the rest of my life, and some I won't, that I'd worn myself out. I'd been on an emotional roller-coaster for the last few years, and today, it had crashed.

Everything I was, everything I could have been, had been burned to the ground. I was never going to be that Pete again, the one that drank the days away, and cut every emotional tie he ever made. This was rock bottom, and you were the ladder to the surface.

-

This morning, I woke up in a warm, comfy bed, with clean sheets on it and everything, and a clear head.

At first, I thought that maybe the whole of yesterday had been a dream, and the hangover hadn't hit me yet. Then, I smelt this gorgeous sweet aroma wafting through the room, and smiled as I looked over to the bedside table and saw a steaming mug of hot chocolate sitting there.

Thinking over what happened, and what will happen as a consequence, I feel like this might just be a new chapter for me. I'll get better. I'll stop drinking. And smoking, too. You said I could do it, and I believe you. It'll take time, brains don't heal overnight, and hearts even less so, but now I know that I never want to go back to where I was yesterday. I always knew it would take something drastic to get me to change, and something drastic is exactly what I caused to happen. I know that you can't just become a new person, but I don't want to be totally new. Just a bit happier, and a bit healthier.

You don't know I'm awake yet. I can hear you in the kitchen, cooking something that smells even nicer than the hot chocolate, which was delicious, by the way. I think you slept on the couch last night, after driving me to your flat, hauling me up the stairs somehow and tucking me into bed. I had a really, really good nights sleep, no nightmares, just clear blue skies. I'm writing this on loo paper because it's the only thing I could find. After I'm done, I'm gonna go help you cook, because you'll burn everything otherwise. Maybe I'll even steal a kiss when we're done.

Because maybe, if I do this right, if I do manage to get better, then I'll finally be ready to treat you right, to give you the love you deserve.

Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.

Yesterday might have been the worst day of my life, but today might just be one of the best.

From Pete.  


	30. Chapter 30

 

Dear Patrick,

You've come back to me. You're mine again, and I'm yours, and we're so cute I wanna cry.

Like, I don't even know what to do with myself now. Everything's been turned on its head. Before, I had all this hate that I was channelling into everything, always planning the next way to ruin your life, thinking up insults I knew would get to you, counting all the different ways I could hurt you. Now, I'm thinking about what kind of flowers to get you in town tomorrow, what kind of icing you'd like on your birthday cake next week, and counting the minutes 'till I get to see you again.

And you've helped me so much. I feel like I'm making progress. There's been a few bad days, but I don't wake up and immediately want to die any more. It's only been a couple weeks, but I'm seeing things differently, as if you came along and knocked my vision into focus.

The best thing is, though, it's not all because of you. Some of the good stuff is because of _me_. I do nice things without complaining or even being asked, I throw open the curtains in the mornings like they do in the movies. I even got a plant. I don't know why it makes me so happy, all it does is sit there. It's one of those house ones which comes in a little pot and it has big shiny green leaves which stick out everywhere. But, like, it's an actual living thing that depends on me and it belongs to me and I have to look after it or it'll die. It's a big responsibility. I can do it though, it hasn't died, and I figured if I can keep a plant alive, I can keep myself alive too. And it's all come from me, this new enthusiasm, and that makes me kinda proud.

It was so weird, when I first began to feel like this. I wasn't used to it, it was like when you hear a song you don't know but you sort of do know it a bit because you swear you've heard that lyric before, and that chorus, but you can't quite pinpoint if you recognise it or not.

It happened so quick, too; when I woke up that morning in your bed, I knew something was different.

-

It took me a while to take in everything that'd happened the day before, the meeting and the shouting and then...well, you know better than anyone what I nearly did. And then the breakdown, the confession, the soul-searching. And the kiss. That bit was pretty good.

But I still didn't really know what was going to happen next. I mean, one kiss doesn't make up for a year of what was basically psychological abuse. And physical abuse, on more than one occasion. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

I was completely at your mercy. You could do anything you wanted to me; beat me to a pulp, kick me out of the band and never talk to me again, get me locked up for good, and I wouldn't put up a fight. I deserved all of those things. You should hate me more than anything else in the world. And yet there I was, under your roof, in your bed, listening to you humming softly to yourself while you cooked.

There was no way you could be comfortable with me, forgiveness doesn't come that easy, so I was pretty nervous as I opened the bedroom door, after a quick shower, and crept down the hall to the kitchen.

Hovering in the doorway, a felt a smile spread across my face as I saw you prancing about the room, looking adorable in jeans and a massive jumper. Your hair was all static, little strands flailing in the air like tiny hands waving at me. The thought made me snort with laughter.

Hearing my splutters, you jumped about a foot in the air and whipped around, almost dropping the spatula you had in your hand.

"Morning," I announced, grinning at you.

My smile faltered when I saw a flash of genuine fear touch your eyes. I decided to stay in the doorway, and held my hands loosely by my sides, where you could see them and know that they weren't going to get anywhere near you.

"Sorry." I said, watching you quickly regain your composure.

"S'okay, you just made me jump. Breakfast?" You asked brightly, gesturing at the eggs in the pan.

I opened my mouth to question your cooking skills, then remembered that I'd spent the last year insulting you, and that actually, I had no desire to make you feel sad ever again. So I just nodded and made for one of the stools at the kitchen counter. I made sure to keep at least five metres between me and you at all times.

"Clothes too mainstream for you?" You laughed as I walked fully into the kitchen, suddenly aware of the fact that I hadn't bothered to put anything other than my boxers back on after my shower. Force of habit, I guess. "You can borrow stuff of mine. It'll be way too big, but I just got this new washing powder that makes everything smell amazing, so..."

I frowned at your self-deprecating statement, which seemed to have come a little too easy to be healthy, but brushed it off in favour of the offer of actually clean clothes which didn't stink of beer or cigarettes.

Baggy sweaters seem to be pretty much the only thing you own, so I shoved one over my head and searched around for some jeans. The best thing was, they smelt like you. And with clean clothes and a clear mind, I was starting to feel somewhat human again.

After bouncing back into the kitchen and planting myself on the stool, I tucked into the mismatch of breakfasts that you'd put in front of me. There was a plate of eggs and beans and stuff, then two slices of toast, and also a bowl of Cheerios complete with milk and spoon. It was like you didn't know what I liked for breakfast and had decided to cover all possible options.

The eggs were a bit overdone and the toast was burnt round the edges, but I battered my inner food critic and focussed on the fact that this must have taken you fucking ages and you're hardly ever even awake for the morning, let alone up and cooking. Plus, you made the toast just right with the butter all the way to the crust. I gave you a big grin and managed to work my way through the entirety of the feast, and, I'm gonna be honest, felt fuller and happier than I had in a long time.

You'd been pottering around the kitchen, clearing stuff up and chewing on a piece of toast every so often. But now, you stood watching me, in the corner of the room. I could tell you were keeping your distance. It sent a shot of guilt through my chest.

"Thanks...thanks for breakfast." I said finally, after a stern silence fell over us.

"It's fine, dude, you look like you needed it," you shrugged. You took a small step towards me, worry pooling in your eyes. "Look, Pete, I think...I think we need to have a talk...about...things." You mumbled, your fingers tying themselves in knots.

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we do."

I knew this was coming. It had been brewing in the air around us the whole time. I felt my mood slowly start to sink.

You sat down on the couch and beckoned for me to do the same, looking at me with wide eyes, your knees pulled up in front of you like a little kid. I flopped down at the opposite end, tucking my hands under my knees.

"So," you stated in a very parents-evening fashion, "Pete, we're going to get you better. _You're_ going to get you better." You said it so matter-of-factly that I believed you then and there.

But, like, _how?_ I'd been pondering over that how for years. But it turned out you had quite a lot of the answers.

With a rustle of papers, I saw that you'd produced a notebook from somewhere and were chewing on a very short pencil. So we're going full-out therapy session now, are we?

"Uh...What's that?" I asked, peering at the mass of scribbles on the page and wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.

You blushed at the accusatory expression on my face, but coughed slightly and spoke calmly. "I thought the first step to getting you back to normal would be to figure out why you're feeling like this in the first place. So I, uh, made a list."

Uh oh. A list of all my problems. I think you're gonna need a lot more paper, Patty-boy.

"Okay," I said cautiously, immediately wanting to postpone this conversation for a decade or so.

Your eyes flicked between me and the paper, and I wondered which problem you were gonna go for first. The anger, the depression, the bad sleeping. I held my breath as you scanned the page. It was like issue roulette.

"So, first, is, um, the drinking." Oh. Yeah. Of course that one's first. You picked at the binding of the notebook as you awaited my response.

"Yeah," was all I could really muster.

"How much?"

"Uh...I never really remember. A lot." I shrugged.

"Every night?"

I laughed bitterly. "Yeah, and the day too."

You let out this little sighing sound. I tried to ignore it.

"Any other drugs?"

"Nah, not really. Sleeping pills now and again. Oh, and weed. And normal cigarettes too."

"Okay. Okay, good."

I screwed my face up in confusion. What about any of this is _good?_ I get that you're an optimist, but there are some things that don't have a bright side. Namely me.

As if you'd read my mind, you shrugged and said, "Well, you know, it could be worse, you could be addicted to heroin."

Yeah, true.

"Second," you continued, "any more nightmares?"

"Uh, sometimes, I guess. But mostly I'm too drunk to dream."

The pain in your eyes went through me like a knife.

"Sorry," I mumbled, staring at the floor. As if apologies were gonna help.

"It's okay. I just...wish I could have helped." You went back to chewing on the pencil.

A disbelieving smile pulled at my lips as I began to realise, after way too long, how heart-breakingly kind you are.

"Patrick, no-one could've helped. I spent the last year building a massive fucking wall around myself, I was beyond help." Usually, I'd shuffle closer to you and give your shoulder a little squeeze, to let you know that it was okay, but given the circumstances I just sorta sat staring at you, hating the thought that you were sad because of me. But then I guess you've been sad because of me a lot lately. I resisted the urge to throw myself out of the lounge window.

"And, uh, finally, the, um...anger." You shifted in your place, still not looking at me.

My guts writhed around inside me. This was the one I'd been dreading, and I know you'd been dreading it too. I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I just nodded.

"How long have you been...feeling like this?"

Hmm. I had to think about that one. "Uh...I don't know...it comes in waves, I guess. Like, sometimes I'm completely fine, then the next I'm punching people and shouting."

"Who have you got angry at?"

"Um...my parents, I guess. When they ditched me. Then Joe when he kept me away from you. And Mikey before he left. But, when I get angry at them, it's like normal person anger. Just shouting and stuff if I get worked up. Everyone does that, right? But then there's this other kind of anger, like, I can't really stop it, it just kinda happens, and that's when I hit people."

"Who've you hit?"

I searched my brain for answers. There was only one. And that was just it. That was my whole issue, right there. Because the only person I'd ever hit was the person I loved most.

"You."

There was a short silence. You kept looking at the page in front of you, but didn't write anything. The bruises on your neck and along your jaw were suddenly, horrifically obvious. "Why was it always me?" You said in a small voice.

The guilt that had been hanging over my head dropped, crushing me into the floor. "I...I don't know. I guess I just...I loved you so much, and I kept getting so close and then failing at the last minute, and it got me so angry. And I blamed you for everything. It was way easier for me to punch you, verbally or otherwise, than to admit how besotted I was with you. How besotted I still am."

You smiled a little, before the light in your eyes faded and you went back to staring at the paper. Unconsciously, one of your hands moved over your stomach, and I felt a chill go through me as I remembered what I did.

"How's the...uh...bruise?"

You shrugged. "Fine, I guess. As fine as a bruise can be."

I felt tears spring to my eyes when I saw the hurt on your face, and sobs gathered in my throat. I tried to hold them in as I croaked my next sentence. I just had to tell you this. "Patrick, I'm so sorry. I...I know that doesn't help, doesn't make what I did to you any better, but...but I hope it shows that I want to change. I want to get better, I need to get better, so I can treat you right, finally. Patrick, I will do everything in my power to make it up to you. I promise, I'm gonna do this, I'll work for however long it takes to regain your trust and deserve your love. I'll make it up to you, I will."

You must have seen the naked honesty in my face, because this time when you smiled, your eyes lit up and I swear I saw some pride in there somewhere. How could you possibly be proud of me? I tried to hold back the tears, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a stop sign.

"Thank you." You said quietly. "Did you really do all that stuff for me?"

"What stuff?" It was only two words, but I couldn't even manage that without my voice cracking.

"The pumpkin square things, and that time we fell asleep on your couch and you made me pancakes. And...and when you kissed me after the record came out, and I asked you to leave. Was that all because...because..."

"Because I was completely, stupidly infatuated with you, yeah." I ducked my head to hide my blush.

"I'm so sorry."

My head snapped up. How in hell's unholy name could you think that any of this was your fault? "What for?" I breathed, incredulous.

"For not noticing. For all those times you did something kind for me, and I didn't stop to think why." You bowed your head. "I guess now I know what it feels like to love someone and them hardly even notice you. But, like, you had it for four whole years. I'm sorry you had to do that. And I'm sorry you and Mikey broke up."

I snorted, but your voice had been so genuine that maybe you were actually sorry. I forget that some people _don't_ feel the need to lie about everything. "You don't have to be polite, Patrick."

"No, no, I mean it, it's never nice breaking up with someone."

"Yeah, but it was never gonna work. His hugs suck." I giggled through tears, smiling wider as you gave me a small grin. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, I've asked you enough stuff."

"When did you start to see me as more than your annoying friend? And...and when did you start to love me?" It was self-indulgent, but I'd been wanting to ask those questions for ages.

"Well, um, I guess I started to like you when you told me about the nightmares, and we started to share the bunk. You...you made me feel safe." How ironic. "And...and then I think I realised I loved you, like, a week or so after we broke up. I suppose that cliché is right; we don't know what we have 'till it's gone."

A week. Fuck. To think, if I'd only waited a tiny bit longer. "Was it really that soon after?"

You nodded shyly. "Actually...this is horrible, but...but I was going to tell you that day. The day you introduced me to Mikey."

I groaned. If only, if only I hadn't been such an ass to you, we could have spent the last year together, like we should've done. "Oh, god, I'm sorry," I whined, burying my face in my hands.

You fiddled with the pencil between your fingers. "I was so jealous of him. It...it pretty much killed me every time I saw you with him. God, I'm pathetic." You pulled you knees tighter into your chest.

Being rubbish at this deep conversation lark, I had no idea what to say. But I gave it my best shot anyway. "Nah, you got nothing on me. Wanna hear my pathetic anecdote?"

You peeked out at me, looking curious.

"This is so sappy, but...Okay, basically, every time I kissed Mikey, I found that if I got at just the right angle, and tilted my head slightly to the left, and kinda zoned out a bit...then I could pretend I was kissing you."

The smile that lit your face lit my world. "Really?" You squeaked.

I nodded, the last of the tears falling from my eyes. 

We sat in satisfied silence for a few moments, taking in everything that'd been said. It was weird, it had all been so honest, so easy, and I kinda felt as if you'd cut my head open and cleaned out all the bad stuff, and given me some shiny new thoughts to go with it. It was amazing.

I couldn't help but marvel at the boy curled up at the other end of the couch. I'd hurt him so bad, and yet here he was, still fighting for me, even when I wasn't really fighting for myself. And those blue eyes, Jesus, I could have got lost in them. Maybe I will.

"Can I kiss you?" I blurted, too mesmerised by your parted lips to think about whatever the hell my own mouth was doing.

You raised your head, and my heart dropped when I saw alarm cross your face. Shit. Too far, again.

"I...um...maybe...maybe not right now."

Of course. I gave myself a mental slap for even thinking you'd say yes. _Stupid, stupid._

"Okay, so...uh...back to getting you better, I, um..." You trailed off, shifting about in your seat. "Are there any other things that might have caused you to...uh...get angry?"

I tore my eyes away from your face and back to reality. I forgot that this was counselling, and not a romantic movie.

Thinking about your question, I pondered that maybe there wasn't much more to it than alcohol and sleep deprivation. Maybe that was it, cure those and I cure me. But then I realised one more thing. Because obviously there was something more. My brain was sick for a reason. And I think I might have that reason.

"I get lonely."

I'd said it so quietly that I wondered if you'd even heard. You always hear, though. You looked up at me, the concentration in your eyes flooding with sadness. Again. Because of me.

But then the clouds started to clear. "That's why I couldn't wait for you. That's why I clung to Mikey like I did. That's why I acted like a dick the whole year," I exclaimed. The realisation was so strong, I half expected a light bulb to appear above my head.

I waited for you to say something. You just kept looking at me. It was kinda unnerving after a while actually.

Suddenly, you stood up, placing the notebook on the side and making your way to the door, grabbing a hat and your keys.

I sat there watching you like an idiot, wondering where the hell you were going and why. I thought we were figuring out my problems?

You raised your eyebrows at me and gestured to the door.

"What? Where are we going?" I asked, slowly rising from the couch and drifting towards you. I didn't get too close.

A smile tugged at your lips and you yanked the door open, disappearing from view as you made for the stairs. Wandering out behind you, I shut the door and hopped after you, pestering you the whole way like a five year old. You never responded.

Instead, you clambered into your car and smiled at me. I ran round to the passenger seat, and as soon as I got in, resumed my pestering.

"Seriously, where are we going?"

You started the car.

"Are you taking me to a therapist?"

We pulled out of the parking lot and began down the main road.

"Are we there yet?"

You took a left, then a right, then another left, eyes resting on the road.

"How much longer?"

You stopped the car.

I peered out the window. We were at my house.

"Oh."

You said nothing as you got out of the car and hurried towards my front door, checking that I was following. Scooping the spare key out of the flower pot on the left of the porch, which used to actually have a flower in and not just some dried soil and a dead twig, you didn't hesitate to let yourself in.

It was strange being in my house again. It was like I'd been gone for ages, when really it'd only been one night. It hadn't changed in the slightest; clothes still strewn over the floor, pizza boxes stuffed in imaginative places, and the smell of liquor clinging to the air like mould to a piece of bread. Same old house. Maybe it felt so weird 'cause I was the one that was different.

"Patrick, what are we doing here? I could have got home by myself you know."

"I know. But there's something we- well, you, have to do." You looked kinda worried, as if whatever this was, I wasn't gonna like it.

You picked your way across my lounge and crouched down in front of the cabinet I knew all too well. It was where I kept my poison.

Yanking the doors open, you reached in and scooped out as many bottles as you could possibly manage, lining them all up on top of the cabinet, until, after a couple more trips, it was empty.

I just stood and watched you do whatever it was you were doing, wondering what the hell was going on but trusting your crazy mind all the same. The look in your eyes was so determined as you carted the bottles off the cabinet and transferred them to the kitchen counter. When you were finally done, you looked at me expectantly. _Expectant of what?_

"Well get over here then," you laughed, waving me towards you. I eyed the bottles, lined up on the counter like a firing squad, but followed your orders without question.

You handed me a full bottle of Smirnoff vodka, nice stuff too. A few swigs of that and the night was a blur. I took it, and glanced at you in confusion. What the hell was I supposed to do with this?

"I hardly think getting wasted is the solution to all this, Patrick."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the bottle back and unscrewing the lid. I was convinced you were gonna take a swig, and was ready to knock the stuff out your hands before it hooked you too. Seeing you end up like me would be the worst thing imaginable.

Instead, you turned to the sink, and tipped out the contents of the bottle. I watched open-mouthed as the beautiful clear liquid disappeared down the plug, indistinguishable from the water now. You made sure every single drop was gone.

Turning back to me and placing the bottle back down on the counter with a crack, you picked up some gorgeous single-malt whiskey, an old friend of mine, and held it out to me.

"Your turn."

Oh.

I finally understood what this was about. This was the end of the old Pete. A ritual to start me off fresh.

I grabbed the bottle, a grin spreading over my face, and prised the lid off, rushing to the sink and doing as you had done. I ignored the slight pang of longing in my gut when I saw all that golden stuff go to waste. It was a shame, really.

But when all of it was gone, I slammed the bottle down triumphantly and clapped my hands together. I'd managed to get rid of one, now I could get rid of them all.

"Let's fucking do this."

With that, your eyes lit up, and we spent the next half hour crowding round the sink, bottle tops everywhere, watching my life support get swallowed by a drain instead of me. Soon, I was surrounded by empty bottles, and for the first time ever, it wasn't because their contents were in my bloodstream.

When were were done, you grinned at me, your eyes crinkling up at the corners and your cheeks going all cute and round, and I swear I felt a little light-headed. I'd forgotten what your smiles do to me. The urge to hug you was reaching critical.

But you turned away, gathering up all the bottles and dumping them all in the recycling with a horrific crashing sound, causing my hands to jump to my ears and you to screw your face up. After that, though, that was it. They were gone. The sound was the last bit of pain they'd ever cause me. I tried to resist the urge to jump up and down on the spot, and failed.

You giggled, and oh my god I forgot how amazing that was. Your hand went to your mouth and I found myself marvelling at your fingers, how they were just the right length and how the nails were scruffy because you bite them and the ends were calloused from playing pretty much every conceivable instrument. Is there anything about you which isn't beautiful? It's getting kinda frustrating.

"Uh...Pete?"

Oops. Staring again. I blinked and tore my gaze away from your face, with much protest. "So what're we going to do now?" I asked, still bouncing about. But what you said next made my whole body turn to lead.

"Pack a bag."

I froze.

_No, no, this can't be what you want. Please say it's not what you want._

But thinking about it then, it was so blindingly obvious. Of course you wanted me gone. Why the fuck would you want to look at me ever again? The notebook, it was to give to the doctors who'd try to give me pills. You'd given me breakfast not as a new start, but as a last farewell.

I felt tears threatening to spill down my cheeks, and the black hole in the pit of my stomach grew larger. In the end, though, I just nodded. I'd go without a fight. This was what you wanted, and I'd said I'd do whatever it took to make you happy. I guess I just got my hopes up.

I bit my bottom lip and frowned to stop myself breaking down in front of you, before trailing towards the stairs. At least once I was upstairs I could cry in peace.

"You don't have to if you don't want to!" You called, but the desperation in your voice was false.

"Yes I do." I croaked, placing a shaking hand on the bannister and hoping I could hold the tears in 'til I was out of sight.

"No, Pete-"

"It's for the best, you're right." I sighed.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. "I...I thought you'd want to..."

"I guess I do want to. I want to get better, and if this is the way to do that, then I'll do it. I'll do anything." I paused on the bottom step, looking back at you. "I just...I wish I could still be with you."

"What?"

"Well...this was fucking stupid of me, but...I thought after all this, maybe...maybe we'd, y'know, get back together."

"What?"

"I know, obviously I was an idiot. I'm sorry for making stupid assumptions."

"What?"

"What are you _what-_ ing at?"

"Pete, what are you on about?"

"You're sending me away, right?"

"Sending you away? Pete, I want you to stay at my place!"

No. No way.

I peered at you from the stairs, wondering what the hell you were playing at.

"What?"

"Well, I thought, because of the whole lonely thing, that maybe it would help if you stayed at mine. And, and that way I'd always be there for you if you need help, or, or you feel like drinking, or you can't sleep. It wouldn't be for that long, just as long as you need, I guess. But you really don't have to. It's up to you."

I stared at you. "Wait, so, you _don't_ want me gone?"

"No, you moron!"

"Oh."

I could tell you were holding back giggles.

"So you want me to stay with you?"

You nodded.

"Can I hug you?"

After a moment's thought, you nodded again.

I flew across the room and engulfed you in my arms, squeezing you with all the strength I could muster, nuzzling your neck like some oversized puppy.

"Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouuuu!" I chirped, as my heart tried to jump through my chest and face nearly split open from grinning so wide.

I carried on cuddling you until I heard a squeak. "Pete...please...bruises...hurt...and...need...to...breathe..."

Oops.

I immediately let go of you, still panting hard from pure elation, and stepped away from you, putting my arms behind my back and away from you.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I just got excited."

But you were laughing. Thank fuck, you were laughing. "It's fine," you said breathlessly, the light in your eyes still burning bright.

"I thought you were gonna put me in some mental hospital or something," I giggled, the shock fizzling away.

"I'd never do that, you idiot. I want you here."

My excitement faded a little as I thought about that. "But...how can you want me here? How can you stand to even be around me? And...and what if I get angry again? What if I hurt you again? What if this time it's worse? I could put you in hospital or, or kill you-"

"I don't care," you said, staring right at me.

"What? No, no, you should care, you're putting yourself at risk, for me, and I'm not worth it, I'm not!" My voice had become shrill and my eyes wild. I backed away from you.

"You are, though. I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna help. I'm not leaving you on your own like I did for the past year. We're gonna work through this, together. You have to trust me, Pete." Your voice was so gentle, I wanted to reach out and stroke it.

"I do trust you. I just don't trust me." I bowed my head, not wanting to look you in the eyes.

"Well you should trust you. You're so kind, so loving, and that's the real Pete. The one that cooked me soup and gave me forehead kisses and held my hand. The one I'm looking at right now."

I felt myself blush. I guess I did feel a bit different today. A bit brighter, a bit healthier. If I could make this permanent, then maybe I could start to trust myself. I felt a little of the excitement I'd felt before stir inside me. I could do this.

"Uh..." you started, looking at your shoes, then up at me, "you...you can have that kiss now, if...if you'd like."

The smile that appeared on my face was enough to last me a whole year.

I bounced towards you, trying my hardest not to break into song. _He's letting me kiss him, he's letting me kiss him, oh god what the hell do I even do, don't grin like that, you look like a psychopath, no, no, don't grin, don't fucking grin-_

Managing to regain a hold on my composure, I hovered in front of you, feeling my pulse race and my heart struggle to keep up. I reached out a hand towards you, and placed it lightly on your waist.

"Is this okay?" I whispered, feeling your breath on my face.

You nodded, and I barely had time to smile before you reached your arms around my neck and closed the distance between us.

And fucking hell, that kiss was amazing. Your lips were so soft, so perfectly curved, and the way they pressed into my own made me wonder how the hell I'd managed to keep off them for a year. I slowly slid my hand from your waist to your lower back, pulling you a tiny bit closer, and with my other hand I cradled the back of your head, running my fingers through your hair. I'd missed you being this close, I'd missed being able to touch you and to taste you.

After a few moments, your lips parted slightly, allowing our tongues to glide over each other in perfect harmony. And then, oh god, and then from deep in your throat came this low moan, and you tangled your fingers in my hair and I swear I died and went to heaven. The sound of our hot breaths and my own heart beating in my ears filled my head.

Even though I would have quite happily stayed like that forever, it had to end at some point. You slowly unwrapped your arms from me and untangled our tongues, leaving me to try and cling on to you for as long as possible, sucking on your bottom lip gently before letting it go with a small popping sound.

I felt you smile as I rested my forehead against yours, drinking in your deep breaths and reliving what had just happened.

"Fucking hell," was all I could muster, and you giggled at me.

I think that's about when I realised that everything was going to turn out okay.

-

So yeah. I packed up some clothes and a toothbrush, and have been staying with you ever since. When we got back to your place, you poured away all the beer that was in your fridge and even that bottle of scotch you were given as a Christmas present. You're really determined to keep me clean. It's only been a couple weeks, as I said, but dammit I feel good.

I still keep my distance a little bit, because if I didn't, I'd be all over you all the time and it would be difficult to get anything done. Also, you don't really show it, but sometimes you still flinch a little when I touch you, or push me away if I kiss you without asking. 

But you're always there for me. I don't know when I'm gonna go home, but I'm dreading it already. Like I said, there's been a few bad days, but it's only my stupid depression playing up, or me wanting a drink, or a cigarette.  When that happens, when I shut everyone out, you just sort of sit by me and give me cuddles until I smile and then you feed me ice cream or drag me out the flat for some fresh air or we cook something together. I say together, I cook and you cheer me on.

We alternate between the sofa and the bed; at first you insisted that I took your room every night, but you got achy from sleeping on the couch, and I'd always see you rubbing your neck in the mornings, so now we alternate. Of course, it would be better if we both just shared the bed, but I don't think you want to do that yet, and that's completely fine.

We took it real slow at first, with me occasionally pecking you on the cheek or you holding my hand. Yesterday, I asked if you wanted to be my boyfriend, and you said yes, and we laughed because it was so goddamn cheesy, and then you kissed me like you did when we were at my place and I melted into your arms . We haven't told anyone else, we're just going carefully, mostly working on our friendship rather than our relationship. And I can feel it, with every ridiculous pun, every petty tiff over which Star Wars is best, and every stupid message written on the fridge with those letter magnets, we're rebuilding everything I wrecked.

I can see the plant from the couch, sitting there on the side and reminding me that I need to stick around for everything that's going to happen once I'm better. I figured, once I go back home, and maybe after the tour, if everything's going okay, then maybe I could find a place for us to share? Would you like that? Fucking hell, I've only been with you two weeks and I'm already thinking about living with you permanently.  But the thing is, you're so easy to be around, you make me hot chocolate and give me hugs and sing in the shower sometimes. I could really get used to this. 

You're out getting groceries at the moment, such is our rockstar lifestyle, and I'm wondering when you'll be back just so I can see your face again. I forgot how much of a sap I am when it comes to you. 

I know I'm getting better, though. Since I've been here, I've had exactly zero nightmares, zero rages, zero cigarettes and zero hangovers. Go figure.

Thank you.

Love, Pete.  


	31. Chapter 31

 

Dear Patrick,

If only today had ended like it started.

Because it started pretty darn perfectly.

-

I usually forget people's birthdays. I'm crap with dates anyway, but once I start having to get presents and cards and all that stupid shit, I'm done. So I just kinda block them out. I've been doing that for so long, everybody knows I'm not going to get them a present, so they don't worry about it any more. I'm just the guy that turns up to their parties, drinks all their liquor and throws up in their garden on the way out.

But, as always, you're the exception.

I woke up on the 27th of April with a huge smile on my face. Today was going to be brilliant.

It had been my turn to sleep on the couch, which was perfect because it meant I could sneak about the place without waking you up. At least, not _yet_.

Pancakes were my go-to breakfast option. You go nuts for them, and they're easy as falling off a log. However, I'll be damned if I hadn't upped my pancake game since I last cooked them for you. No more weird lopsided shapes and burnt edges and squidgy bits in the middle. I knew how to get an almost perfect circle every time, I knew the physics behind the perfect flip, the right temperature, the right amount of butter, the right angle at which to hold the spatula.

So I silently got dressed, into clothes I'd hidden under the couch the night before so I wouldn't have to disturb you, and tried my utmost to look presentable. I wore a button-up, I mean, come on, I never wear button-ups. I even brushed my hair, something usually only forced upon me at photo-shoots.

Now for the pancakes. I discovered that being quiet is impossible when removing pans from a cupboard, even more so when said cupboard is slightly out of reach. If it'd been anyone else, they definitely would've woken up, but it was you, and you could sleep through a nuclear holocaust.

I pranced around the kitchen, collecting various ingredients that I'd had to meticulously hide from you. I'd put the whipped cream right at the back of the fridge where the vegetables are, because I knew you'd never venture there, and the spices I'd bought were hidden in various shoes. I just hoped they didn't now smell of said shoes.

Everything was lined up and ready to go. I'd even laid the table, with one of those pretty chequered table cloths, and a vase in the middle with a rose in it, because I'm shamelessly romantic. Now all I had to do was wake you up.

I crept into your dark bedroom, wondering if I should've knocked. Nah, who was I kidding, you never would've heard me. On the bed, there was a mess of duvets and pillows, a little fortress of sleep that you'd built during the night. You were somewhere in the middle of it, engulfed in the sheets.

Picking my way round to the other side of the bed, I tried to find some evidence that there was an actual human being under all that. But, even in the dark, I could see your face peeking out the top of your bed-burrito, your arms wrapped around the corner of the duvet, hugging it tightly to your chest. You were so darn cute, I had to try hard not to make squealy noises at you.

Reaching out, I gently placed my hand on your arm and gave it a little shake. It had about as much effect as blowing on a brick wall. This was gonna be tricky.

On any other day, I would have just thrown open the curtains and sung in your face or something, but seeing as it was your birthday, I had to show a little bit of mercy. I knelt down beside the bed, tilting my head so it was at about the same angle as yours, and leant towards you. Your steady breaths tickled my face as I kissed you, slowly and carefully.

You shifted a little, humming into my mouth and parting your lips slightly so that I could suck on the bottom one, before I pulled away and stroked a hand across your cheek.

"Patrick, wake up," I said gently, pecking you on the nose between words, "it's your birthday, wake up."

I pressed my lips to yours once again, feeling you stir. Your eyes fluttered open briefly, before rolling back into your head. Then, they snapped open again, the sleep fading from them as they focussed on me.

I'm gonna be honest, I was not prepared for what happened next.

Terror tore through you as you woke up to a Pete-shaped object three inches from your face; you let out an ear-splitting yell, pulling the covers up over your head and scrambling to the other side of the bed as fast as you could. Unfortunately for you, though, you fantastically misjudged the width of the bed and fell off the far edge, taking the mess of duvet with you and landing on the floor with a _flumph_. I had to resist the urge to laugh when I heard you groan.

When it dawned on me that as a loving boyfriend I should probably go and help you instead of sitting there sniggering, I walked round to the other side and sat beside the lump in the covers.

"Are you okay?" I asked, pushing back the duvet to reveal your scowling face and fluffed up bed hair.

"Ugh."

I took that as a _yes_ , and reached out to push the hair from your eyes. You swatted my hand away and pulled the duvet back over your face, letting out another groan.

"It's your birthday!" I said brightly, ignoring your negativity and shaking you excitedly.

"No."

"Patriiiick," I whined, poking you, "you need to get up!"

"No."

"But you already slept most of the morning!"

"No."

I sighed. Getting you out of bed was like trying to break a window with a marshmallow. Is there anything you love more than sleep?

Wait a second.

"I'm making pancakes..." I smirked, patting something I thought was your knee but turned out to be your butt.

You stirred. The duvet shifted. Two blue eyes blinked out at me from the covers. "With whipped cream?"

"Yes."

"And maple syrup?"

"Uh huh."

"...Okay."

I smiled, cuddling the lump of duvet in spite of its squeaks of protest. "Today is gonna be amazing, just you wait."

Jumping up and opening the curtains, and laughing when I heard you hiss, I strutted out of the room, leaving the door open so you could smell the pancakes and not want to go back to sleep.

After about half an hour, there was a pile of pancakes on both our plates. I'd drizzled the syrup over them meticulously, allowing just the right syrup-to-pancake ratio, and squirted little blobs of cream in a spiral on the top. Then, to finish, I placed three halves of strawberry in the very middle, and dotted some blueberries around as well. Perfect.

Just as I stood back to admire my handiwork, you stumbled into the kitchen. You were dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, and it was so simple, I wondered how it looked so good. But it fucking did.

"Morning!" I grinned, wondering how long it'd been since you'd got up during the actual morning. "Your pancakes, my Lord." I gestured to the table, sweeping over towards you and guiding you into a chair like they do in restaurants. You smiled sleepily, sitting down with a flop and gazing at the food.

I ran round the other side and sat facing you, watching you take everything in. "Did you do all this?" You asked, gesturing to the rose and the perfectly laid table.

"Yep!" I was practically bouncing up and down in my chair.

"Thank you," you said quietly, your eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"Happy Birthday." Our gazes lingered on each other for a few seconds, before we both smiled and looked away. "Now eat up, otherwise they'll go cold!"

You grinned, picking up the knife and fork and trying to work out where to start. I did the same, deciding to go bold and sink my knife the whole way through the pile. I was just about to take my first bite of pancake, when the phone rang.

We both looked up, and I groaned. I debated whether or not to just leave it, but it was such a horrible sound, I had to stop it. Heaving myself out of the chair and trailing over to the phone, I snatched it up and vowed to kill whoever it was on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Patrick?"

"No."

"Uh...Okay"

"It's Pete."

"Oh right. Are you at Patrick's?"

"No, I just stole his phone and ran off with it."

"Shut up."

"Joe?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"Uh...how are you?"

I almost laughed at his pathetic small-talk attempt, but decided to play along anyway. "I'm okay, I guess. You?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. Listen," his voice dropped to a whisper, "can Patrick hear this?"

I looked over to the sleepy boy munching away happily, completely oblivious to his surroundings. "Nope."

"Okay good. Look, at about one o'clock, can you get him to my place?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess...why?"

"Wait, is he even up yet?"

"Yeah, I woke him up."

"Wow, well done. Why are you at his place, anyway?"

Uh oh. We hadn't told anyone that I was staying with you. _Quick, think of a good lie._ "I, uh, came to wish him happy birthday?" Huh. That was surprisingly okay.

"Oh, right. Okay. To be honest, it's probably a good thing you're there, he might not even be conscious if you weren't. My place, one o'clock, yeah?"

"Yep. But why-?"

He'd already hung up.

That was weird. And kind of annoying too. I was gonna take you out this afternoon, but obviously not any more.

"Who was that?" You called from the table. I went to sit back down and finally make a start on my damn breakfast.

"Oh, just someone selling something."

"Okay." You turned your attention back to the dwindling pile of pancakes in front of you. You really will believe anything when you're tired, won't you?

Once we'd both cleaned our plates, and I'd refused to let you help me wash up, you began to wake up, bouncing on your heels and following me round the kitchen asking questions.

"What are we doing today?" "Are we going out?" "Will there be ice-cream?" "Why aren't you answering my questions?"

"Just wait and see, will you!" I feigned anger, and you laughed, batting my arm.

You stopped suddenly, your eyes lighting up like you'd just remembered something very important. "Can I open stuff yet?"

I'd been so absorbed in thinking about whatever the hell that phone call was about, I'd forgotten you had presents and cards and stuff. And fuck, if that Christmas was anything to go by, you were gonna have a hell of a lot of cards.

"I don't know, go check the mail."

"Okay!" And with that, you skipped over to the front door and disappeared out of it.

I smiled after you like an idiot, feeling my heart do that little thing it does when I re-realise the fact that I'm so completely in love with you. Because I really am.

"Pete," I heard you call after a minute or so, "did you already get the mail?"

"Nope," I yelled back. I never get the mail, because none of it's ever for me.

You wandered back inside, looking confused. "There's...there's no mail."

"Don't be silly, it's your birthday, of course there's mail." I said it without looking at you, preoccupied with cleaning the syrup off the kitchen counter.

"No...there isn't." I glanced up to see you staring at your feet, and I knew what that meant.

Without missing a beat, I dropped what I was doing and bounced over to you, placing my hands on your cheeks and tilting your face up. "Hey, don't look like that. Maybe the post hasn't come yet, or, or they have a problem with the deliveries, or something. Don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." It wasn't a complete lie. I knew there was no way that _all_ your family had forgotten your birthday.

"Okay. Yeah, you're right. Okay." You smiled, but I could see in your eyes that you didn't believe me.

I took the opportunity to lean down and kiss you, because I hadn't done that yet, at least not when you were conscious. You tasted like maple syrup.

After pretty much forcing myself to pull away, because unfortunately I couldn't spend the whole day connected to your lips, I grinned at you, remembering something I'd planned to do.

"Besides, my present will beat all of theirs put together."

Your eyes lit up, and I grabbed your hand and led you back into the kitchen, before letting go and running to the bedroom closet where I'd managed to hide my present. It was a risky move, putting it in here, but I had faith in your refusal to use the 'lumpy' pillows, so I'd hidden it in amongst all of them. But sweet jesus, was it heavy.

I wrestled it out of the cupboard, staggering backwards with the box that I swear to god had grown since I bought it, and guided it into the kitchen, bashing it on every possible door-frame as I went. I was surprised I even managed to plonk it on the table in one piece.

Your mouth was slightly open when I finally looked up at you, slightly out of breath from my battle with the gift.

"What is _that_?" You said incredulously, taking a step closer to the large box wrapped clumsily in purple paper.

"Open it," I smiled, bobbing up and down on my toes.

A nervous grin touched your lips, before you attacked the box, tearing the paper off excitedly. You gasped.

"Pete...what the...did you really...?"

I laughed at your wide eyes. "Yep, I did really."

"But...it's beautiful..."

The best thing about it was, if it had been anyone else, they probably would've thought I was crazy for giving them something like this. But it was you, and you reacted exactly how I'd hoped you would. "I know. This is the finest hot chocolate machine anywhere."

"Thank you!" You rushed over to me and hugged me tight, burying your face in my shirt.

"Happy birthday." I said again, giving you one last squeeze before you pulled away, reaching for the box.

You gazed at it as if it was your first born child. "Can we try it out?"

"Sure we ca- wait..." I checked my watch. Quarter to one. _Shit._ "Uh...no, not yet. We...we need to be somewhere."

You pouted. I groaned. I can't stand it when you do that, because I just give in to you. But I had to stay strong for this one, because I really wanted to know what the hell Joe was up to.

"Get your coat, we need to leave, like, now."

"Why?" You whined, looking at the box with longing. "Where do we need to go?"

"Uh...somewhere." I said. I wasn't sure how much Joe wanted me to tell you.

I hopped over to the door, grabbing our coats and throwing yours at you. "Right now?" You asked, shrugging your coat on and fetching your hat off the coffee table.

"Yep, right now."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Hmm..." You narrowed your eyes.

"Look at me like that all you want, I'm not telling you where we're going."

I heard an annoyed huff, but dragged you out the door anyway, hoping we'd be able to get there in time.

-

"Joe's place?" You asked curiously as I parked the car, after a journey of unanswered questions.

"Yep."

We leapt out the car, and I powered towards the building, trying not to laugh as you tried to keep up with me, like a little kid running after his parents. I acted all cryptic, like I knew exactly what was going on, just to frustrate you even more.

"Peeeete," you whined, "pleeease just tell me?"

"Nope."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Liar. You _love_ surprises."

"But-"

"No." I said it with such finality that you shut up for the rest of the way.

At this point, we were outside Joe's door. What the hell lay behind it, neither of us had any idea. I looked at you expectantly, nodding towards the doorbell as if I was part of this whole plan. You shot me a worried glance as you reached out and pressed it, snatching your hand back as if you'd just pulled the pin from a grenade.

I heard footsteps behind the door, but it didn't open. All that happened was a metallic clicking sound, the silence. That was weird; whoever it was had just unlocked the door, but not opened it. I twisted the handle, and leant forward, opening it just a crack, because it seemed like that was what we were supposed to do. We both peered inside.

It was completely dark. All we could see was a bit of carpet and the outline of Joe's sofa. What the fuck was this, some kind of horror-movie stunt? I felt you grab my hand as you stepped inside.

As soon as we were clear of the door, it was slammed shut behind us. I felt you jump and cling to me tighter, because you didn't realise I was just as freaked out as you were. We stared around at the darkness, our backs against the door.

I debated whether to call out or not; it seemed like a natural thing to do, but then I also didn't wanna be that one idiot at the beginning of the movie that shouts _hello?_  into a darkened room and gets brutally murdered three seconds later. I could almost feel you thinking the same thing beside me.

"Pete?" I heard you whisper-squeak, as you wound your arm with mine and held me close.

Forgetting that you expected me to know what was going on, I decided to step up and play the hero. In the deepest voice I could muster (I mean, we're talking Christian Bale's Batman here) I spoke at the darkness.

"Joe?" Yeah. Take that evil psychotic murderers. Don't mess with me.

I heard someone take a breath. We both froze. Then there was a whisper from the corner of the room. It was counting down. _Counting down to what? Oh shit, I knew it, we're gonna die here._

"...three, two, one..."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATRICK!"

Light poured into the room, illuminating the crowds of people who'd been standing round us the whole time, all of them with their glasses raised and their faces split into laughter. Cheers broke out amongst them, applauding us or you or the prank or something, popping party poppers and champagne corks in unison. A banner with the words _Happy Birthday_ in swirly silver letters was strung across the ceiling. I nearly passed out.

You let out a shriek and your hands jumped over your mouth, stifling startled laughter as people made their way towards us, patting us on the backs and giggling about how good they'd got us.

Then I saw Joe, the sneaky bastard, bobbing about in the background, grinning like an idiot and looking very proud of himself.

"Surprise!" He yelled, and the crowd parted to let him engulf you in a hug. I resisted the urge to stop laughing in order to pry him off you. He slung an arm round your shoulders and turned to face the mess of people, some of whom were squished onto the sofa or poking their heads round the door to the kitchen. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced dramatically, "may I present Mr Patrick Stump, who is officially twenty-three years old." He shoved a glass of champagne into your hand, grinning from ear to ear. "This year, we wanted to celebrate it properly by dragging all your friends and family over here to scare the living hell out of you." A laugh ran round the crowd. "But seriously, though, on behalf of everyone here, and that's a lot of people, we just wanna say that you're an awesome dude, and the best friend, son, cousin, brother, and whatever the hell else you are, that we could ask for. Happy birthday."

Fucking hell. Everyone applauded, and you blushed, beaming around at everyone as if you wanted to hug them all at once. And you pretty much did. They swarmed over to you, and I stepped back to avoid being crushed. You thanked all of them, Joe especially, and wow, he really did manage to get nearly all your family here. Your mum pretty much threw herself at you, your dad patting you on the back in an I-love-you-but-I-don't-want-to-make-a-big-thing-of-it kind of way. I couldn't help but grin, you looked so damn happy.

Looking around Joe's flat, he'd really gone all out for this thing. Most of the furniture was pushed up against the walls to make room for all the people; on every available surface, there were trays of drinks and finger food, and little silver bits of confetti in the shape of the number twenty-three. Wow. This put my pancake-and-hot-chocolate-machine effort to shame. I mentally kicked myself for not trying harder. I should've been the one to organise this, I'm supposed to be your boyfriend.

Eventually, once you'd told pretty much everyone that no you didn't have any idea this was happening and yes you did feel pretty scared when it was pitch black and you couldn't see anything, I decided to go reclaim you, pushing my way through the dispersing mob and standing next to you awkwardly. Did you want anyone to know we were together? Was I allowed to do anything couple-y in front of these people? I mean, hadn't they already seen you holding my hand?

But you pushed all my worries out the window by linking your arm with mine and twining our fingers together, finally giving me one of your smiles.

"Pete, sweetheart!" Suddenly there was a different pair of arms around me, and a kiss on each of my cheeks. Pulling away, I smiled in surprise when I saw your mum standing in front of me, fixing my collar and combing my hair from my face.

"H-hello, ma'am," I said, a bit overwhelmed by the sudden mumsy-ness I'd been bombarded with.

"I thought I told you to call me Patricia?" She huffed, tutting at me. "How are you, darling, we missed you last Christmas?"

"Uh...I'm good, I-"

"Have you and Patrick patched things up?" She glanced down at our clasped hands, looking at me hopefully.

"Um...yeah, yes we have," I got more confident, puffing my chest out proudly.

"And will you break his heart like you did last time?" A gruff voice asked.

Oh shit. Your dad stood behind your mum, arms folded and a glare boring into me.

"Darling," Your mum scolded, "don't frighten him!"

Because you bet your ass I was fucking frightened. "I...uh...I'm sorry, I, I made a mistake, I didn't-"

"You certainly did make a mistake. And I trust you won't make that mistake again, will you, son?" He growled.

"No, sir, of course not, sir." I stuttered pathetically.

"Good. Make sure you don't." With that, he walked off, pulling your mum with him, who mouthed an apology at me.

Okay. Apparently my family appeal had declined substantially in the past year. I gave myself another mental bashing for that.

I looked round at you, engrossed in conversation, and felt the anxiety build up in my bones. Your parents had been so welcoming before, and now they'd pretty much just shut me out for good. All these people, they were here for you, I wasn't wanted, hell, even Joe probably didn't want me here. Would he even have invited me if hadn't picked up your phone? He hadn't told me any of his plans, of course he didn't want me here. I started to wonder if I could make a run for the door without you noticing.

Then I saw it. The champagne. I mean, I'd seen it before, but I hadn't really _noticed_ it. But there it was, plain as day, sitting in your hand, looking at me seductively, and I _needed_ it. Suddenly all I could see was the glass between your fingers, the bubbling liquid pressing itself to your lips. I felt my mouth drop open as I gazed at it. A flick of my hand and I could prise it from you. Another and I would feel it burning down my throat. I missed it so much, why had I stopped, why would I do that, why give up something so-

"Pete, are you okay?" You'd stopped talking and were now looking straight at me, concern filling your face. I hardly noticed it, though, all I saw was the glass, now even closer to me than before.

I licked my lips. I could go and find another glass, there were glasses everywhere, but this one, it was right in front of me, I hardly even had to move to take it. You'd just see it as playful boyfriend stuff, as me just messing around, you wouldn't notice the first glass, or the second. If I snuck away from you, I could have as many as I wanted, and you wouldn't even know.

Wait. No. I'm not doing this again.

I tore my gaze away from the champagne, and focussed on you. Focussed on the fact that your eyes were so much prettier than the alcohol, that your smile would make me feel warmer inside than it ever could.

"Uh...the...the champagne," was all I could muster. I bowed my head, ready for your disappointment.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed, looking at the glass, then at me. Letting go of my hand for a second, you placed it down on the nearest table and came rushing back, taking both my hands this time.

"Don't be sorry, I'm sorry for being so pathetic." I mumbled.

"No, Pete, you're not pathetic. You're amazing, and I shouldn't have been so thoughtless." You lifted my head with a finger.

"But what do I do? I want it, Patrick, I want it so bad!"

"I know. You're stronger than that, though, aren't you?"

I dropped my gaze to the floor. I didn't know the answer to that question.

"Aren't you?" You said louder.

Now I knew the answer. "Yes, I am." Looking into your determined eyes, I believed it, too.

"Good! Now, here's what's gonna happen, I'm not gonna drink, and neither are you. Deal?"

I grinned. "Deal!"

"And, every time you feel like you wanna drink, you squeeze my hand, and I'll kiss you, okay?"

I laughed. They probably never used this method of keeping clean at Alcoholics Anonymous. "Okay."

You beamed, letting go of one of my hands and holding the other tighter. I immediately gave your fingers a little squeeze. Without missing a beat, you turned back to me quickly.

"Already?" You asked, concerned again.

Giggling, I shook my head. "No, I just wanted a kiss."

You rolled your eyes, but pressed your lips to mine anyway. I resisted the urge to slip my tongue into your mouth, as apparently that's not acceptable in a family setting. Shame.

"All better!" I smiled as you pulled away.

"Good. Now let's go have a good time."

And we did.

The rest of the party went without a hitch. I mean, I probably could've made better canapés, and the cake wasn't quite as light as it should have been, but hey, you can't have it all. The best part was, you loved it. People doted on you, as they always do, and by the end, you had armfuls of cards and presents, which gradually got opened, and you managed to smile just as bright for the last present as you did the first, finding different ways to thank everybody, each hug just as potent. Just being able to watch you made me feel like it was _my_ birthday.

There were quite a few oh-shit-there's-alcohol-squeeze-hand-quickly-now incidents, but by the end of the day, I was hardly thinking about it. We even had a dance, something I swore I'd never do, but you dragged me to the centre of the lounge and started doing your ridiculous hip-swivels and singing like a lunatic and I had to join in. In the end, it became so easy, as more people started to make idiots of themselves, laughing over the top of the music as the light began to fade.

Slowly, people began to drift off, saying short but heartfelt goodbyes, to you and Joe, mostly, but I got a couple too, god knows why. Not from your parents, though.

After not too long, pretty much everyone had left. The only people still here were Joe, obviously, me, you and Andy. It was cute, having all of us together. We hadn't done that in a while.

We were in the middle of helping clear away all the empty plates and pick up all the party poppings from the floor, when Joe turned to you.

"Patrick," he said cautiously, dropping what he was doing and wringing his hands together, "about today, it...it wasn't just a birthday thing."

"Oh, really? Why?" You asked gently.

"Well, it was also kind of an apology."

You laughed. "What for?"

"For...for everything I said to you at that tour meeting. I didn't mean it, I was just being a dick because I couldn't believe you wanted to quit the band."

"Oh," was all you said. I could see you trying to think of what he'd said to you, and you were having trouble, probably because what happened after he'd left was a lot more memorable. I tried not to think about it too much. "That's...that's okay. It's already forgotten." Yeah, of course it is.

He smiled. "Okay. Thank you." Then his smile faltered. "You're not still thinking of leaving, are you?" At that, even Andy looked up.

You cast a small glance at me. "No. No, Andy was right. I wasn't thinking straight."

They both sighed. "Thank god," Joe beamed, "because, and I promise I'll stop being mushy soon, but we're nothing without you. I couldn't even stand the thought of you leaving, I mean, what would we even do? We'd just be three dudes making noise."

"Yeah, and with you, we're _four_ dudes making noise." Andy interjected. We all laughed like we were in some cheesy sitcom. I half expected the Friends theme music to play at any moment.

"Also," Joe went on, jesus, when was this guy gonna stop, "I'm okay with, uh, _this_." He gestured to me and you.

"Really?" I blurted, almost snorting in disbelief.

"Yeah. When you broke up, I thought things would go back to normal, but both of you just seemed kinda sad the whole time." _Kinda sad_. Understatement of the decade.

I opened my mouth to question him again, but decided against it. There was something in his face that said he didn't really want to talk about this any more.

"Same rules apply, though." he snapped, pointing at both of us. "I let it slide today, because it's your birthday, but seriously, no touching anywhere near me, okay?" We looked at each other, then at Joe, and nodded.

After a moment's silence, you decided to break the tension. "Thanks. And thanks for the party, too, I can't believe how many people came."

"Well you've got your mum to thank for that. She did pretty much everything, I just provided the venue. And the alcohol." He laughed. I grimaced. "Speaking of which, how about a birthday snifter?"

Your response was as immediate as mine. "No, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Yep. A cup of tea would be great, though." You grinned, flopping down on the sofa and looking up at Joe hopefully. I smiled, because your obsession with hot beverages is a continual source of my amusement. Looking back, though, I really really wish you hadn't asked for that tea.

I sat next to you, waiting 'til Joe was out of sight before pecking you on the cheek.

"I'm still here, you know," Andy feigned threat from his perch on the edge of the coffee table.

I blushed. "Sorry."

He lowered his voice, "I knew you'd get back together."

We smiled in unison, our hands finding each other and our fingers interlocking. Andy always knows.

I didn't realise that that would be the last time I'd smile today.

Joe eventually came back into the lounge with drinks in hand, an orange juice for Andy, a cup of tea for you, and a delicious-looking scotch on the rocks for himself. He passed the juice to Andy, and set the tumbler down on the table, before heading for you with the tea.

I'm not entirely sure where it all went wrong. Somewhere along the line, he must have clipped his foot on the side of the coffee table, and before any of us knew what was happening, he toppled like a felled tree and went face-first into the couch. It would have been funny, too, if he hadn't taken the tea with him, sending an entire mug of boiling water spilling over you.

You let out a pained shriek and leapt up, clawing at your soaked shirt and fanning hopelessly at it. I jumped up almost as quickly as you did, pulling at the steaming fabric and trying to prise it away from your reddening skin.

"Pete-" You squeaked as my hands tried to yank up the hem of your shirt.

"No, you'll burn otherwise!" I fought against you, doing anything to stop the pain.

"Pete, please, don't-"

But I just kept going, ignoring your struggles and trying to pull the shirt over your head. I promise, I had the best intentions. I didn't realise what I was doing until Joe spoke.

He was on his feet again, staring at the two of us flapping around, a look of pure horror on his face.

"What the fuck is that?" he whispered, pointing at your exposed stomach.

You took advantage of my confusion and yanked the shirt out of my grasp, pulling it firmly back into place, not seeming to care that it must have hurt like hell.

"What the fuck is what?" I asked, because I still didn't get it.

Andy took a step forward. "Patrick, who gave you that bruise?"

Oh.

Shit.

I'd completely forgotten. How had I forgotten? Oh god.

You laughed, shrugging your shoulders. "No-one, I just managed to impale myself on the kitchen counter a couple weeks ago, I'm fine."

I stared at you. It was scary how good a liar you were.

Andy and Joe stared too. I wondered if they'd bought it. I couldn't decide whether I hoped they had or not.

"It looks pretty big, 'Trick, have you been to the doctor's?" Andy asked, cocking his head to one side.

"No, I'm fine, honestly," you replied, brightly.

I bit my lip. Joe picked up on it like a trained bloodhound.

"Pete? What's the matter?" The tiniest hint of threat crept into his tone.

"Uh, n-nothing." I stuttered. Turns out I am very much worse at lying than you are.

You sighed. You knew where this was going. Turning to me, you dropped your voice to a whisper. "They need to know."

"No," I pleaded, "Don't."

"Pete, it'll help. They can help."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "No, they'll kill me!" I wasn't exaggerating at all. They would rip me to pieces.

You took my hand gently. "It'll be okay."

"What the hell is going on? What are you whispering about?" Joe barked, his eyes wide with approaching anger.

You chose your words carefully, speaking softly. "It's not his fault."

Joe choked on air. "No," he said, his hands tightening into fists, "no. He can't have. He can't."

"Patrick, did Pete do that to you?" Andy said, his voice measured.

I bowed my head.

"No, no you didn't. No. You can't have." Joe shook his head, as if trying to wake himself up.

"He didn't mean to, he just-" you started.

"Jesus, Pete..." Andy ran his fingers through his hair and sat back down.

Joe stood squarely in front of me now, his jaw set and his eyes dark.

"Explain. Now."

"Well-" you tried again, but he cut you off.

"No. Pete, explain."

And, taking a deep breath, I told him everything. Everything I'd done, everything I nearly did, right from the beginning. The anger, the alcohol, the April Fools', Mikey. And they both listened. Just stood there and took it all in, hardly reacting at all, you occasionally squeezing my hand when I got to the bits that were hard to say. I'm amazed I got through it all. I thought I'd choke on most of these words.

When I was finished, I exhaled deeply, and bowed my head. They were silent for a few moments, and I braced myself for whatever they'd shout at me. Because at that point, I'd only expected words.

The next thing I felt was Joe's fist connecting with my jaw.

I staggered backwards, and you caught me, too shocked to cry out.

Both you and Andy were shouting stuff at Joe, but all I heard was what he was yelling at me.

"Get the fuck out of my house! You're a monster, get out, you crazy fucking psychopath!"

"Shut the hell up, Joe, he's not-" You jumped in between us, as Joe made to hit me again.

"Why the fuck are you defending him?"

"Because he's not like that any more! He's getting better, I've-"

"You've what? Been trying to _cure_ him? Is that why you're fucking living together now, so that you can _help him get better_?"

"Yes, and you know what, it's working! He's so much better than he was, aren't you?" You grabbed my hand as if it was proof of my getting better. I was focussing on not letting the anger inside me boil over. It was there, just below the surface, threatening to spill. If I let it, it would defeat your whole point, so I just stood there and tried to take deep breaths.

"Yeah, yeah I am," I said with more confidence than I thought I could, "he's really helped, and I'm gonna make it up to him, I-"

"Shut the fuck up! Don't play the fucking victim! You promised, you promised you wouldn't hurt him!" He lurched towards me again, but Andy grabbed his shoulder and you threw out your hands to protect me. "Get the fuck off me!" he shook wildly, but Andy's grip didn't loosen.

"Whether he hurts me or not is my business." You said calmly, watching Joe carefully as if trying to predict his next move.

"Are you crazy? It's not just your fucking business, it's the cops' business too! He nearly _raped_ you, for god's sake!"

I shuddered at that word.

"He might be clean now, but what happens when he relapses? What happens when he decides maybe he will have a drink, what happens when he gets angry and the first thing he sees is his defenceless boyfriend?"

"I-"

"You end up dead on the floor, that's what happens! You can _cure_ him all you want, but somewhere along the line, he'll go back to what he was. You can't help him, Patrick!" Joe's voice was a mixture of shouting and pleading. He was talking as though I wasn't even there, as if he didn't want to acknowledge me as a human being.

"But I trust him! I trust him not to do-"

"Do you? Do you really, truly trust him? This is the guy who gave you that bruise, and all the others. The guy I watched beat you senseless, then choke the life out of you!" He stepped towards you, but you stood your ground.

"That was years ago! And a completely different thing! He was in a very bad place, you can't blame him for that!"

Joe pretty much ignored you, though. "But it must matter to you! Patrick, he's hurt you so bad, and not just with his fists! How many times has he called you fat, ugly, stupid?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, "worthless?"

You blinked. Your bottom lip quivered a little, but you simply clenched your jaw and soldiered on. "I don't care about any of that! I care about helping him, so that's what I'm gonna do!"

"You're wasting your time. He's a monster, that's all he'll ever be! How can you even look at him after everything he's done? He's out. I don't give a shit what management will say, I'm not having him in the band. I never wanna see him again." He growled.

"No, please, just-" I tried to speak, but Andy cut me off.

"I think you should leave." He said shortly, gesturing towards the door.

"But-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Joe screamed, finally getting out of Andy's hold and grabbing onto my collar, yanking the door open and shoving me out of it. I felt a short gust of air as it was slammed in my face. I felt the tears finally start to fall.

Leaning heavily against the door, I heard your voice.

"You can't just shut him out, he needs us, he needs-"

"I don't give a fuck what he needs, and neither should you. You're staying here tonight, and you can stay as long as it takes."

"What? As long as it takes for what?"

"For him to get the message and leave you alone. You gotta get away from him, Patrick, before he kills you."

"But-"

"No! There is a fucking massive bruise on your belly that's there because of him! He tricked you into giving him a blowjob, for fuck's sake! He's got you wrapped around his finger, giving up your bed for him, letting him eat your food and spend your money. He's a fucking leech, Patrick, you gotta get out of his twisted game!"

"You don't seem to understand that he has an actual illness! He's not crazy, his mind just gets a bit clouded sometimes and-"

I heard a laugh. "Yeah, he's got an illness alright. He's sick in the head!"

"Thank you for your opinion. Now, I think I'll be leaving."

"You're not seriously going back to him? If you do, you're as fucked up as he is!"

"I'm not leaving him."

I heard footsteps, and suddenly, the door jolted, as if something had been slammed up against it. There was a small whimper.

"You know what you are, Patrick? You're _weak_. You let everyone walk all over you, let them manipulate you. You're pathetic. Pete can do whatever he wants to you because he knows you'll come crawling back to him."

I felt the doorknob twist and jumped away from it; it opened a little and I saw your shoulder halfway out the door.

A hand suddenly lunged towards you and grabbed your collar. "Fine. Go. But when he's got his hands round your throat, I'll be there to say _I told you so_. You're a fucking coward. Happy fucking birthday." And with that, he shoved you out the door.

You breathed out slowly, flinching as it was slammed in your face. I watched as you rested your forehead against the wood, your fingers lingering on the doorknob and your eyes closed.

"Patrick, I-"

"It wasn't your fault." You sighed, before turning away from me and marching off down the corridor. I hurried after you, but stayed a few paces behind.

We drove home in silence.

-

When we got home, you pretty much ran to your bedroom, shutting the door and leaving me wondering how a day that had started out so well had ended so badly. Running my fingers through my hair, I slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and tried to think of what to say to you if you ever came out your room, staring at the door, willing it to open.

And to my surprise, it did.

You crept out in your pyjamas, clutching a pillow and wiping toothpaste from your mouth.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed." You said quietly.

I glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. I looked back up at you sadly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

You made your way to the couch and placed your pillow on the arm. _Oh no you don't._

"Hey, it's your birthday, you don't sleep on the couch," I said indignantly, standing up.

"But it's my turn," you replied, not looking at me.

"No, you get the bed, come on, it's yours anyway."

"Pete! Can you just-" you snapped, before sighing and softening your tone, "I'm sleeping on the couch."

You finally looked at me, and I saw just how tired you were. But, like, not sleepy tired, not really. More...weary, like all your energy was gone but you still had a long journey ahead of you. You weren't in the mood to argue. So I backed down.

I nodded, and whispered a goodnight at you, before trailing into the bedroom and closing the door. Gradually, I heard the lights being turned off, and the rustle of covers from the couch.

So now I'm sitting on the floor by the door, writing this.

I thought it was bad enough, me in another room, away from you when I should be trying to make you feel better, even if it's only a little bit. Then, after a couple minutes sitting here, I heard a sound that made my heart ache and my stomach clench. It was the sound of someone quietly crying, and hoping no-one else could hear.

I want so badly to go to you. To cuddle you and kiss you and tell you everything's gonna be okay. But I can't, because I'm the reason things aren't okay.

Today was gonna be so perfect, I was gonna show you how much better I was, and how much I love you, but all I did was ruin it. You tried so hard to defend me, but I have no defence. There's no excuses for what I did. Joe was right, I'm always gonna be like this. Even if I stay clean, stop my anger, I'll keep fucking everything up, and you'll pay the price. He was right about pretty much everything.

But your uncaught tears hurt more than anything Joe said.

From Pete.  


	32. Chapter 32

 

Dear Patrick,

I'm okay. I thought I wouldn't be, I thought I'd break down as soon as you left me alone in this horrible empty house. But I think I'm okay. Apart from, like, that one little incident. But I'll write about that in a minute.

You seemed to recover pretty quickly from the birthday thing. The next morning, you were all smiley again, even if some of them were a little weaker than usual. I kept my distance for a little while, not really knowing whether you wanted to be around me or not, and I think you appreciated that.

But after that, you bounced around like normal, giving me hugs and kisses when I needed them, and a _lot_ of hot chocolate. Like, I'm starting to regret getting you that damn machine, because there's just a continuous stream of hot chocolates being plonked into my hands. I'm not 70% water any more, I'm 70% cocoa solids, it's becoming a problem. But it means you're better and that means _I'm_ better, so everything's fine, really.

About a week after your birthday, I still hadn't had any form of alcohol, or a single cigarette, unless you count the nicotine patches, and I was feeling pretty good. Hell, I was feeling amazing, and maybe that's what made me confident enough to decide that maybe it was time for me to go back home.

You'd been fiddling with the machine, trying to get it to work properly, and I'd had a sudden surge of flirtyness, so I crept up behind you and snaked my arms around your waist.

"That's a fine lookin' machine ya got there, sunshine," I said, not sure where the southern accent had come from, but deciding to roll with it anyway.

You laughed, turning to face me and giving me an oh-my-god-you're-such-a-dork look. "Uh, thanks?"

"Where d'ya get somethin' like that?"

"I dunno, some dude gave it to me." You shrugged.

"What was he like?"

"He was quite handsome, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, brown eyes and dark hair. You better watch out, it kinda seemed like he was flirting with me."

"Tell me, what d'ya see in a guy like him?"

"Well, I could tell just by looking at him that he could cook some mean pancakes. That's all I really need in a guy."

"I bet his personality was as nice as his face."

You snorted. "Actually, he turned out to be a huge nerd."

"Hey!" I dropped the act and flicked you on the arm, before giving in to temptation and kissing you lightly on the lips.

"You are a nerd, though."

"You're a nerd!" I shot back childishly.

"No I'm not!" You whined, even more childishly.

"How many legs does a squid have?" I raised an eyebrow.

"None, actually. It has eight arms, and two tentacles."

"I rest my case."

You rolled your eyes, tutting at me, but I saw the blush creep into your cheeks. I grinned, thinking for the billionth time how damn pretty you are.

"You're really cute," I blurted, gazing at your face.

"You're really annoying."

I touched your arm, "I'm sorry, I won't tell anyone about the squids."

At that, you burst into chimes of laughter, collapsing into my arms and shaking all over, "That sentence is amazing," you breathed, and I grinned at your infectious happiness.

I think maybe that was when I decided that I could do this. If I could make you laugh so easily, if we could talk contentedly and smile so lovingly, then I was on my way to being better.

"Patrick," I said calmly, taking my arms from around you and holding your hands loosely, "can we talk?"

You looked up at me, alarm filling your face and your body tensing up a little.

"No, don't worry, it's nothing bad, I promise," I laughed, squeezing your hand to make you relax a bit. "I just...I maybe thought that, like, I've been feeling better lately, and, I don't know, but maybe it would be good for me to go home? Like, not that I don't like being here, I love staying with you, but I just thought that it would be good for me to be alone for a while, to get used to being by myself and looking after myself. But, if you think it's too soon, then that's fine, it was just a thought." I babbled, shrugging.

You looked at me thoughtfully for a long while. I waited for you to say something, but you just stared. I thought maybe you were angry, that you thought it was because of you that I wanted to go home. I guess it was, in a way, because I wanted so bad to show you how much I'd improved.

Then, your face split into a huge smile, and you hugged me tighter than you had in a long while.

"So...you think it would be good?" I asked, a bit startled by the sudden abundance of Patrick wrapped around me.

"I think it would be brilliant! Well done, Pete, this is great!"

I felt a little swell of pride in my chest, because I'd actually managed to make an improvement. And also because the love of my life was hugging me, and that feels pretty good.

And so it was decided.

I spent one more night with you, before gathering up the various items of clothing that were probably mine and running around trying to find my toothbrush, which turned out to be balanced on top of the TV. And I may or may not have stolen one of your jumpers.

It was weird, it was kinda like we were breaking up or something, especially when you insisted I take the pot plant. Although, I would've taken it anyway, you'd have forgotten to water it and it's basically my child by this point, I deserve custody.

I was fine with leaving your flat. There was stuff I definitely wouldn't miss; the queues for the shower, I mean, what the hell do you even do in there, I swear to god you spend most of your life locked in the bathroom, and also the sleeping arrangements, the couch is a bitch and sleeping in your bed always made me feel guilty because me not getting neck ache meant that you were getting neck ache. Plus, with me gone it'll mean that you can achieve your goal of becoming fully nocturnal. And we can never agree on what film to watch. And you don't like it when I try to predict the endings. _And_ you don't like the spicy Doritos.

But then there's the stuff I really would miss; you might spend ages in the shower, but sometimes you'd sing, and I'd sit outside the bathroom and listen because it'd be such a waste if I didn't. And sometimes you'd leave notes for me on the bathroom mirror, or randomly cook for me, usually something a bit burnt-looking and kinda weird tasting, but I appreciated the effort, and every so often you'd jump up and order me to listen to some song and then rave about the vocals or the drums or the bass for like an hour. I think what I'm getting at is that it was _you_ I'd miss most, being around you all the time and learning all your little habits.

It was something I'd have to get used to, though. I knew I couldn't rely on you forever, it wasn't fair on either of us, and this was only ever supposed to be temporary. It wasn't even that big a deal, we were still gonna see each other like, all the time, I'd still get talk to you and to kiss you and hug you, but it felt like a big deal when I finally stepped out the door.

You came with me to my house, and made sure I was okay. Actually, you stayed really late, like you didn't want me to leave either.

But, after several movies and a colossal tickle-fight, you knew it was time for you to go.

"You'll be fine," you smiled, hugging me on the doorstep.

"Okay," I said, not entirely believing you.

"No, Pete, you will be, I know you will be."

"But what if I...what if..." I stammered, thinking about all the damage I could do without you there to stop me.

You put your hands firmly on my shoulders and gave me a little shake. "Listen, if you feel like drinking, or you feel angry, or you have a bad dream or you're anxious or depressed or feeling bad in any way at all, even if you just stub your toe or something, you come straight to me, okay? I don't care if it's the middle of the night, just call or come to my place, and we'll get through it, yeah?"

I nodded so hard I thought my head might fall off, "yeah."

You smiled, and suddenly I felt more confident, my empty house didn't scare me because for once, my heart wasn't empty at all. You made to walk away, but I grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards me, wrapping my arms around you and kissing you as if you were leaving for good.

But you still had to go. I didn't close the door until you'd walked to the end of the block and turned the corner, out of sight.

-

The first night was fine.

I did normal person things, changed my bedsheets and took a shower and stuff. Then I decided I needed to dust the place, because everything I owned was tinged grey, and while I was at it I swept a bit too. And tidied. New Pete is obviously a neat-freak. Or maybe I was just traumatised after spending a month in a flat where nothing is ever put back where it was and there's piles of random shit everywhere so you literally can't move without knocking something over. I think it's fair to say that you're as much of a neat-freak as you are a morning person.

It was good, though, because it felt like a different house after that. I could kid myself that the couch hadn't been the location of so many drunken nights, that the toilet hadn't been my pillow for so many more. That the living room carpet wasn't where your bleeding body had lain, or my corpse. Wow, that makes me sick just thinking about it. Anyway, it was new, a new place to make new memories of better times.

So I just went through all the bedtime rituals that you usually went through; pyjamas, teeth-cleaning, pillow fluffing, wriggling around under the covers to warm them up, eye-closing, sleep. And it was as simple as that. Why the hell had I made everything so difficult before? This was easy, much easier than staggering home in the early hours of the morning and hoping I passed out somewhere comfortable.

I slept with no nightmares, and woke up bright and early, deciding that a smoothie was the best way to go breakfast-wise. Honestly, I felt like someone on one of those gym adverts. Then I realised I didn't actually have any food in my house, so a trip to the shops was in order. Then I spent the rest of the day sorting through some of my old clothes, cleaning some more and basically trying to put off calling you for as long as I could.

The next night was fine too, and the next. I could sleep, I even had a couple _good_ dreams, which I'd forgotten were possible to have, and I didn't need you there to make me feel better, 'cause I could do that by myself. I thought I'd miss you, and I guess I do a bit, but you're always only a phone call away and we see each other every couple days anyway.

After about two weeks, though, it started to get a little bit more difficult. Sometimes I'd be out, and see someone smoking, and have to fight really fucking hard not to tackle them just for a drag. Or in the supermarket, I'd let myself linger in the wine section, wondering if one bottle would really be so bad. But I fought it, every urge, because I knew how disappointed you'd be if I gave in.

Then, there was this one night. The nights are always bad, but this one was the worst I'd had in a long time.

 

I woke up in the dark, soaked in sweat and shaking from head to toe, tears stinging my eyes and soaking my pillow. Suddenly it didn't feel like there was enough air in my lungs; I gulped and gasped like I'd just run a mile and scrambled around under the covers, desperately trying to get them off me. I'd forgotten how terrifying those nightmares always were; half the time I didn't even remember them, I just remember waking up and feeling like the darkness was just gonna reach out and strangle me.

For a while, I just lay there, letting the cool air wash over me and trying to make sense of everything my mind was shouting at me. I kept telling myself it was only a dream, it wasn't real, nothing was gonna hurt me, but that's hard to believe when you're staring at a wall of darkness and trembling like a leaf.

Finally, I resigned myself to the fact that there was no way I was going back to sleep after that, so slowly, shakily, I sat up, running a hand through my sweat-slick hair and trying to breathe normally. It's harder than it looks.

My fingers tangled themselves in the sheets, as if trying to break their bones, as I realised that this was it. I'd failed. I'd been doing so well, tried so fucking hard, and I'd still not got any further. I think it was then that I realised what I needed. Vodka.

I scrambled out of bed and tripped over my own feet, smacking my face on the floor and groaning. I felt a little bit of something flare up inside me, and tried to kid myself that it was just annoyance. It wasn't though. It was way stronger than that.

Staggering out the door and down the hall, I gripped the bannister tightly as I picked my way down the stairs, my fingers shaking and my balance tilting as if I was on a boat. I did feel kinda seasick.

When I got down the stairs without killing myself, I headed straight for the drinks cabinet, falling to my knees in front of it and fumbling with the handle. But, yanking it open, I saw it was empty. Of course it was empty. I growled in frustration, clawing at the carpet. I needed drink, and I needed it _now._

Stumbling blindly back up the stairs, I searched around for any kind of clothes. Somehow, I managed to throw on a shirt, and grimaced as I felt it stick to me. After finally finding pants that weren't skinny jeans, I hurried back down to the lounge, grabbing my keys and wallet off the counter. There was an all-night store right around the corner, and it would have everything I needed.

 

Driving was difficult. The light from the street-lamps all seemed to blur into one, and the road in front of me was nothing but a smudge of grey and white. I could feel the sweat pooling under the palms of my hands.

The journey to the end of my street seemed to take years, I felt like I'd aged since I'd heaved myself into the car. I could see the junction ahead, an empty road. I'd turn left for the store. That was the best thing to do. There I could find my medicine, my poison.

But then this weird thing happened; it was like for a second I stepped out of my body, and I could think straight, I was normal, neat-freak Pete again. And when I looked at the turning, I knew I could go left, and ruin my life again, or I could go right, to your house, for your help, just like you said.

_But I need to drink._

No, I didn't. I needed to snap out of this.

_I need it, I need to feel it burn, I need it to help me forget everything._

No, I needed to feel your lips on mine, I needed you to help me remember who I am.

I fidgeted about, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. I was nearing the end of the road. Left or right.

And with one, deep, reluctant breath, I turned right.

 

I didn't really know what I was doing when I knocked on your door. All I knew was that I was here, and you could help, but there was a part of me that was screaming, wondering why the hell I hadn't gone and got what I so badly needed. I very nearly turned and ran off, all I could think of was the alcohol, how it would make everything better.

After a few moments, the door opened, and a confused-looking and extremely sleepy boy revealed himself. You stared at me, and I could see your brain trying to work out what the hell was going on and why I was here at god knows what time of night.

"Pete?" You slurred, rubbing your eyes as if it might help you see clearer.

"I don't know," was all I could say, my eyes flicking all over the place as if someone was gonna mug me at any moment.

"Uh...come in, I guess," you yawned, opening the door fully and gesturing for me to step inside, which I did, quickly.

Your flat was pretty much completely dark, the only light coming from your bedroom, so you felt for the switches on the wall and pressed the first one you found, turning on the soft kitchen cabinet lighting.

"What happened?" You asked, a little more awake and a lot more concerned.

"I don't know," I said again, running my fingers through my hair and looking around frantically.

"Pete, wh-"

"Do you have alcohol?" I said suddenly, looking straight at you. Realisation crossed your face.

"No, no, you don't need it, you don't-"

But I wasn't in the mood for your counselling. "Anything, I don't care what it is, champagne, whiskey, Baileys, anything!"

"No, I don't, I'm s-"

"You must have something! I need it, now!" I half-yelled, feeling the all-too-familiar anger flare up inside me.

"I don't have anything, Pete." You reached out a hand towards me, your expression soft and reassuring. But when you entwined our fingers, all I could think was that it was _you_ who took my medicine. All this was _your_ fault.

I tore your hand away from mine and gripped your wrist, and with the other hand, I grabbed your collar, fisting it into the fabric and growling like an animal.

"You took it all, didn't you?"

You took a deep breath and looked at me steadily. "Pete, you're not thinking straight. You need to breathe, just breathe, and think about _why_ you're angry, and why-"

"Shut the fuck up. Stop this fucking stupid therapist act and get me some fucking drink." I hissed, digging my nails deeper into your wrist.

"No. Drink won't help." You said firmly, your jaw set.

At that point, I saw red.

I tightened my hold on your collar and shook you, hard, like a dog shakes a rabbit. You let out this little whimpery noise which just fuelled my rage.

"You just don't get it, do you? You can't fucking help me, I don't need you to help me, I need vodka and cigarettes not fucking hugs and kisses! You ruined me, I was fine before you, you ruined everything!" I could feel you struggling now, trying to twist your wrist out of my grip, your eyes starting to show your fear.

"Please, I-"

"I told you to shut the fuck up! You took my goddamn drink, you made me fucking tip it all away, you think you control me! You don't know anything, you don't know what it's like, you're just a stupid kid, you can't stop me drinking!" I was yelling at the top of my lungs now, shaking you with each word as you clawed at my arm.

"I can, though. I have." You said quietly, suddenly still, looking straight at me.

I flexed my jaw and felt the muscles in my back tighten; how could you think that, how the hell could you be arrogant enough to think that you'd made me better, I'm fine as I am, as I was, I need fucking alcohol and you're not gonna give it to me.

The anger surged within me, and suddenly, I dropped your wrist, raising my hand up, ready to strike you. You watched, horror filling your face. I swallowed, knowing if I hit you in just the right place, I could give you a black eye, if I did it harder I could draw blood, leave a bruise, split your lip, break your nose, break your jaw-

Wait.

What the fuck was I doing?

That same Pete that told me to go to your place reclaimed my body; I felt the anger melt away, turning to horror as I looked at your cowering form, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, waiting for me to hit you. _Oh god, not again._

I slowly lowered my hand, ghosting it across your cheek, feeling your quick breaths on my skin. I let go of your shirt, stepping away from you in a way that was scarily similar to last time this happened.

Your eyes fluttered open, flitting from my empty hands to my mortified face. Gradually, you straightened up, watching me warily, your breaths slow and steady.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, bowing my head. I turned around, feeling the numbness spreading through me like poison. Opening the door, was surprised I had enough strength to drag myself through it. I couldn't bear to even cast a last glance at you.

Joe was so right. I'd tried so hard to prove him wrong, show him that I wasn't gonna relapse, wasn't gonna hurt you again, yet I'd just nearly broken your fucking jaw. I'd promised never to make you scared like that again. I felt my heart sink through my body like lead.

I was just about to walk out of your flat, possibly forever, when suddenly, I felt a pair of arms snake around my waist.

You gently spun me round to face you, before tightening your hold and pulling me into a hug. What the hell were you playing at?

I wriggled against your grasp, trying to pry your hands from me, but you just buried your face into my shirt and sighed into my shoulder.

"No, Patrick, don't, just let me go-"

"No." You mumbled, and I felt your head shake.

"But...but I could've hit you, I...I relapsed, I failed, I could've killed you for gods sake!"

You loosened your hold, raising your face to look up at mine. "You didn't, though."

"But I-"

"You wanted to drink but you came to me instead. You got angry, but you didn't hit me. Do you know what that means?"

I shook my head, confused at the smile that was tugging at your lips.

"It means you're getting better, Pete. You didn't relapse, you just tripped up a bit, it was bound to happen some point. You certainly haven't failed, this just shows you're able to control yourself more. That you're gonna get through this." You said, squeezing my hand.

"Does it?" I still didn't really understand how the hell you'd managed to twist this into a positive thing.

"Yeah, it does. I'm so proud of you." You beamed, pulling me in for another hug.

We stayed like that for a while, your arms wrapped round me, and me wondering what I should be feeling right now. You're forgiving to a fault, you know that?

After a little bit, you stirred in my arms, reaching behind me and shutting the door softly. I'd forgotten it was even open.

"Uh...don't I need to go home?" I asked, remembering that right now, sleep was supposed to be happening.

You laughed, taking my hand and pulling me further into the lounge. "You're not going anywhere."

"Wha- Really?" I stammered, glancing at the couch. I think my neck's still aching from that thing.

But you rolled your eyes and dragged me through your flat, past the couch and into your bedroom. Once I was in the door, you let go of my hand and scampered over to the bed, hopping under the covers, before reaching over the side and throwing some pyjamas at me.

I caught them clumsily, nearly snorting as I saw the Batman logo plastered across them. You're such a dork. But they were soft and clean and weren't soaked in my sweat, so I pretty much jumped out of my clothes and put them on. And don't think I didn't catch you looking, you cheeky bastard.

I kinda couldn't believe how this had turned out when I cautiously got into the bed beside you; you were actually gonna let me share your bed? Like, you hadn't been this comfortable with me for a very long time, why the hell did you pick tonight? But, I tell you what, I'm damn glad you did, because I needed it most.

Staying at the far side of the bed, not wanting to push my luck, I expected to just lie there until I fell asleep, or it was time to get up again, but when you turned out the light, I felt you shuffle closer to me.

Slowly, I draped an arm around you, realising that I wanted you to be as close to me as possible, and you did the same, shifting about until we were perfectly wrapped up in each other. I could feel your breath on my neck, your chest rising and falling in time with mine.

"Thank you," I whispered into what I hoped was your ear.

"You're welcome," you hummed back.

I took a chance, and said something I hadn't said in a while. "I love you."

"I love you too."

My heart skipped. _Isn't this, like, the first time we've done that little exchange?_

I think you realised it too, because you breathed out heavily, like you'd been holding your breath for ages. Taking my hand from your waist and placing it on your cheek, I tilted your face up towards me, seeing nothing but the flecks of light in your eyes. Closing my own eyes, I leant forward and kissed you, slow and satisfying. You sighed against my lips, placing a hand on the back of my neck and allowing our tongues to dance together. Fucking hell, this never gets old.

We stayed connected for as long as we could, before you finally pulled away, burying your face in the crook of my neck and snuggling closer to me. Just like we used to do.

There were no more nightmares.

-

Nothing's happened since then. I guess now, it's not just words any more, I _know_ I'm getting better, and I'll stay that way.

You let me stay over sometimes, and I never sleep better than when I'm with you. Plus, your bed is fucking comfortable, I need to get the name of the mattress company because jesus, it's like sleeping in water. But, like, without the risk of drowning and stuff.

At the moment, I don't know what's happening with the band. Neither of us have seen Joe or Andy since your birthday, although I think I saw the back of his head after he dropped all your presents and cards outside your door. You'd completely forgotten about them, and I'm not sure if you really wanted to be reminded. But that's it. I don't think I've been kicked out yet, I haven't had the _you're fired_ call from our manager so I guess that's a plus. Maybe Andy talked him round.

But you said you loved me. No tricks, no inference, you just straight up said it. Now we say it all the time. It feels fucking amazing. I feel like everything else in my life could get screwed up, and I wouldn't care as long as you kept saying those three words. I don't know what I'd do without you. 

I've still got the plant, it's still alive, it's looking at me from the kitchen table. It used to be on the coffee table, but then it got so big that we couldn't actually see the TV anymore, so we had to move it. It's nice to be able to say _we_ for everything, I like it. We're a team, you and me. You provide the cuteness and the counselling, and I provide the pancakes. What more could you ask for in a relationship?

I love you.

From Pete.  


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: *nervous laughter*]

 

Patrick.

I'm not really sure if I can write this one. But I'll try, anyway.

-

We'd just had a show. I say show, I mean four annoyed dudes forced onto a stage making noise that sort of resembled whatever we'd done on the record.

It had been our first one for ages, and to be honest, I wasn't really sure if I was still in the band or not. We knew it was gonna be awful, it was on one of those fucking stupid breakfast TV shows no-one watches, and it was early too, so even you weren't up for it, and you're usually the most enthusiastic. And then there was the small problem of Andy and Joe hoping I'd accidentally fall out a window at some point.

I could tell you were worried when I picked you up; you were all tense and not as huggy as usual. And the first rule of dating you is that an unhuggy Patrick equals an unhappy Patrick.

I tried to cheer you up, I really did, but it just seemed to make things worse. My smiles were weakly returned, my kisses pulled away from too soon.

It was horrible when Joe and Andy arrived. Neither of them spoke to either of us, but all the words we needed we exchanged in hatred-laced glances. The thing was, though, that I didn't really want to talk to Joe anyway, after what he'd said to me and to you, but you did. You tried so hard to make conversation, sitting next to him and asking him whatever question you'd thought up, tapping him on the shoulder to try to make him look at you. But he'd just talk over you to Andy.

The performance was horrible; we were hitting wrong notes all over the place, most of the audience looked either bored or in pain, and people would rather pick at bits of fluff on their jeans than listen to us. Oh god, and the interview after. Everyone but you just gave one-word answers, with sullen faces and expressionless eyes. We were like a bunch of zombies.

I sure felt pretty dead as I walked out of that place; it was just after lunch, it'd taken ages to pack all the gear up, and I'd spent most of that time trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone. Even the crew were in shitty moods. I should've known, it was a fucking omen.

You walked beside me in silence as we headed to my car, whilst I finally got to vent about Joe.

"...I mean, the guy's a dick, if he wants to fucking throw me out, then he should just go ahead and do it, not just give me dirty looks and not talk to me. I thought he said he never wanted to see me again?" I said, using elaborate hand gestures to show you how pissed off I was about this.

"Yeah," you said, not looking at me.

"And he's got Andy on his side too. I mean, I guess I expect it from Joe, but from Andy? He used to be with us, and now he just goes and fucking switches sides!"

"Mm."

"That show was a fucking car crash, what the fuck were we even doing? Joe kept giving me glares, like, right in front of the cameras, now everyone'll know we're dicks. Or at least _he_ is. And the whole interview, he didn't say a single word, did he?"

"No."

"I fucking hate him. If he's got so much against me, he should leave. He's not even that good, I mean, we could get a better guitarist than him easy. We could get someone new, and be an actually good band, like, one that doesn't mess up talk shows, couldn't we?" I looked at you for reinforcement, but you were just staring at the ground as you walked.

I coughed a bit to get your attention.

You looked up, blinking at me a few times. "Oh, uh, yeah, we could," you shrugged, and went right back gazing at the ugly grey tarmac.

We finally got to my car, and I was just about to open the passenger door for you when, speak of the fucking devil, Joe turned up. He sure as hell has timing.

"He's not fucking going home with you." he growled, glaring straight at me. He grabbed one of your shoulders and pulled you away from the car. You flinched away from him and shrugged his hand off you, frowning at your shoes as Joe and I stared each other down.

"Oh, so _now_ you're talking to us? What the fuck was that, then, earlier on?" I spat, crossing my arms.

"Look, I don't wanna talk to you. Hell, I don't want to know you anymore. But you're not taking him home."

I felt a twinge of hatred run through me. "Why the fuck not? I got him here!"

"Exactly. He's taken enough risks today."

"What do you mean, _risks_? What risks?"

"You! You're the risk! You're fucked in the head!" He was yelling now, hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Shut up. You don't know anything about it." I growled back, my jaw set.

Joe raised his eyebrows, looking me up and down. "Oh, no, are you gonna get angry? Are you gonna hit me, too?" He cooed.

"Joe..." You warned, looking up and reaching a hand out towards him.

He batted it away, not breaking eye contact with me.

"I'm not gonna hit anyone." I said confidently, sticking out my chin.

"Hey Patrick, is that what he said to you before he beat you to a pulp?" He mocked, looking at you with fake kindness in his eyes.

You didn't say anything. Joe laughed. "I'm taking him home," he stated, "he's not spending another second with you."

"Why the fuck are you saying this _now_? He's spent a lot of seconds with me since April, why is it suddenly bothering you today?"

"I need to talk to him. Alone. About you, actually." He smirked.

"Talk to him? Fuck off. Whatever you've got to say, you can say it now."

"Didn't you hear me? I need to talk about _you_. So why don't you pop off home, and I'll drive him to his flat." He said, before stepping forward and putting an arm around you. He dropped his voice to a gentle whisper, genuine kindness in his eyes this time. "No bruises tonight, buddy."

I don't think I was supposed to hear that. I felt revulsion at his words, hating that Joe thought I hurt you every night. My voice became quiet and honest. "I swear, I haven't touched him since the, uh, time after the meeting."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Patrick, let's go." He steered you away from me.

"Hey, look-" you protested, but didn't really fight back.

"You're really gonna go with him?" I frowned, hating the smug expression on Joe's face.

You looked like you were gonna say no, looking at me with a pained expression like you wanted to shake Joe off and come running back to me. Or maybe I was imagining things. In the end, though, you just sighed, glancing back at me as Joe guided you towards his own car. "He needs to talk. I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow."

I swear to god I heard a _not if I can help it_ from Joe's direction.

Frustration balled up in my chest as I watched you leave me. Why would you choose him over me? After he said all that horrible stuff to you? He made you fucking cry the last time we saw him! He's an asshole, why would you go with him?

"Fine, leave!" I yelled after you, "I'm only your boyfriend! So much for fucking _loyalty_!"

But you just bowed your head and got in the car.

 

So I was left standing, like an idiot, in the middle of the parking lot. I stared after you until you were lost on the highway.

Anger boiled through me, but I pushed it back and breathed steadily, tugging the sleeves of my jacket over my hands. Getting angry is not gonna help anything. I couldn't give Joe the satisfaction.

Stalking back to my car, I slumped into it, sitting there for a few moments, thinking about you and what Joe was saying to you. I couldn't get over the fact that you'd chosen him over me. You said you'd stay with me, whenever I needed it, and I sure as hell needed it now. But, with a sigh, I started the car, pulling slowly out of the parking lot and away from that stupid studio and that stupid show.

I dunno what it was, but I felt like I needed to get away from everything for a bit. I could feel the familiar numbness of depression filling my brain, and, for once, I decided to let it. Back came the feeling of utter pointlessness, like every breath I took was just a countdown to death.

So I did pointless things. I turned off the main road and drove around the suburbs, just looking at the houses and the gardens and the people walking, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone. I flicked through all the radio stations, letting a few seconds of each song play before switching it over to the next one, sometimes hearing little snapshots of the radio hosts, one making some stupid joke, another reporting a traffic accident, another telling me I should get on down to Ted's Laundry for a perfect wash every time. There was one that was all static-y, the music sometimes floating though under the crackles. I left it on that station for a while.

I don't even know how long I spent aimlessly driving. It was only when the little needle telling me how much petrol I had left started to creep into the red that I decided maybe it was time to head home.

So that's just what I did. It was weird, though, because I felt better. I'd had my time of wallowing, my little bout of self-pity that everybody needs once in a while, and now I was okay. It was quite a peaceful feeling, actually. I watched the afternoon sun sink slowly down towards the horizon, glad to finally be on familiar ground again.

 

Home was bliss. I actually smiled as I walked through the door, which was weird because I hardly ever smile at stuff that isn't you. Flopping down on the couch, I threw my arms behind my head, and wandered through clear thoughts, occasionally stooping down to pick one up. The one that I looked at most closely was, obviously, you.

Thinking through what happened, I was still pissed at Joe. His asshole-ness had not lessened, I mean, he shouldn't have ignored us for weeks and then suddenly wanted to talk. But then, humans are weird, they change their minds. Maybe I could cut him a bit of slack.

I wondered if maybe you could cut me a bit of slack, too. The yelling, the squabbling, it was all so stupid, and you'd been in the middle of it. I cursed myself for being like that. I didn't hit anyone, though, so I guess that's a plus. But, like, I shouldn't have done that. I needed to apologise, I knew Joe probably meant well, even if he did spend the entire journey home bitching about me. It's fine, I'm kinda used to people doing that.

Peeling myself off the couch, I wandered over to the phone, picking it up and hitting speed-dial, because you're like the only person I call, no point in putting in all the damn numbers every time. I was gonna apologise, gonna tell you I didn't mind you going with Joe, even though I still kinda did, and that I loved you and could I please come over because I forgot to kiss you earlier and I can't take another minute without you. I really, really wish I'd kissed you earlier.

But the phone just rang and rang, until I got your cheesy little answer phone message.

" _Hi, this is Patrick, I'm not in right now, but please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Have an awesome day!"_

"Hey, listen, it's me. I'm sorry about earlier, I was being a dick. Look, I wanna see you, I wanna talk things over, apologise properly, I guess. Give me a call when you get this. Please. I love you."

I hung up. 

Of course you didn't pick up. Why the hell would you want to talk to me? You'd probably heard the message, and deliberately not answered, all because of me being a dick. Or maybe Joe was still in your house, talking to you about me, and you couldn't answer or he'd get mad. I decided I'd give it an hour, then call you again. Then, if you still didn't answer, I'd go buy a big bunch of flowers and leave them outside your door, just to show how much I wanted to talk. Maybe I'd even get one of those huge teddies, if I was feeling extra mushy.

I was right in the middle of lying on the sofa, deciding what flowers to get you, when the phone rang. I sat bolt upright, staring at it as if I'd just heard the voice of god in its shrill noises. Scrambling off the sofa, I dived at it, sweeping it off the cradle and pressing it to my ear.

"Patrick?" I squeaked, waiting for your voice.

"Uh...it's...it's Joe."

My heart dropped a little bit. I shook it off, though; maybe he was calling to apologise, and we could both make it up to you. "Oh, okay, what's up?"

There was a few seconds of silence.

"Joe?"

"Uh...Pete, I...oh god..." He stammered. I'd never heard Joe stammer before.

"Are you okay, dude?"

More silence. I could kinda hear talking behind him, though, but I couldn't tell what anyone was saying.

"Joe?" I said again.

"Listen, Pete, I...there...something's happened." He finished, finally.

I frowned. "What's happened?" I tried to keep my voice level, and push back the worry pooling in my chest. "Look, is this some kind of joke?" I laughed slightly.

"No. I wish it was. I really wish it was."

"Look, just tell me what the fuck is going on." I growled, getting tired of his avoiding the question.

I waited.

He took deep breath.

"I didn't know, I wasn't looking, I didn't mean to, I was angry, I got distracted, and it just, it just-!" He gushed, his voice shrill and frantic. Suddenly, it dropped to a whisper. "It just came out of nowhere."

"What came out of nowhere?" I huffed, getting more and more irritated with every second he didn't answer me. But he did answer.

"The car."

I stopped dead.

"What?"

"I...I didn't see the red light. We...we were on the highway, it couldn't stop in time. It just...it just hit us, slammed right into the...into the right side. The passenger side."

No. No no no no no no no.

"What?" was all I could muster.

He didn't say anything.

I placed a hand on the arm of the couch to stop myself falling over.

I tried to speak, but I only managed to spit out a few words. "How...what about Patrick?!"

Joe drew in a deep breath. "He's...he's in surgery."

The air caught in my throat and I choked on nothing. "S-surgery?"

"I don't know anything, they won't tell me anything! They...they took him away in the ambulance, a different one, and then they took me and they said I couldn't leave until they patched me up and now they have and I'm waiting outside where they took him and I keep asking what's going on but they won't tell me! They say they don't know, Pete, they just don't know!"

"What do you mean, _they don't know_?!"

"They don't know...if he's gonna be okay."

Silence again.

The words sunk through me like a knife.

I felt my hands start to shake, and my heart hammer in my chest. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening. This can't be happening._

"No," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

I heard Joe breathe out slowly. "We're at Evanston. You know, the big one near the university. I'm in the emergency bit, the waiting room. Please get here quickly."

The phone went dead.

Oh god.

I stood in my living room, the phone still pressed to my ear, staring blankly at nothing as I felt every cell in my body turn to lead.

You'd been in a car crash. You'd been hurt, badly. You were having operations done on you. You might die. _You might die._

I couldn't process it. Even spelling it out to myself, it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.

There was this tight feeling in my chest, like the words had wrapped themselves around my lungs. It got kinda hard to breathe.

I had to move, though. I couldn't just stay standing here and let this all happen around me, even though I wanted to crumple up into nothing.

My legs finally managed to regain the power of movement as I headed out the door; I grabbed a coat and my keys as fast as I could, and ran to my car, willing time to go quicker.

The world rushed past in a blur as I tried to remember the way to the hospital. Everything seemed to be against me; every light was red, I got locked in every traffic jam, then I had to stop for petrol. I could hardly think straight as I filled up the car and sprinted into the shop to pay. The guy looked at me weirdly when I ran past the queue, pretty much threw the money at him and told him to keep the change, before bolting out again and hurling myself into the car. It felt like I couldn't do anything fast enough, like I was trying to swim through treacle.

The relatively short journey felt like several years, but the tightness in my chest only got tighter and the muscles in my back only became more rigid. Then, when I finally did get to the hospital, I couldn't find a parking space, then I didn't have change for the meter, then I had no idea where the emergency place was, and then I felt like I might collapse because everything went dizzy.

As I burst through the big double doors, there were so many people and so much noise, and I couldn't see Joe anywhere and I didn't know if I was even in the right place, and all I could think was _PatrickPatrickPatrickPatrick_ and it was killing me and the whole room started to spin and my head hurt and-

"Pete?" said a voice from behind me.

I whipped round, staring at the person for a few seconds before fully processing who it was. "Andy!" I shrieked, and threw myself at him. He caught me and hugged me tight, rubbing my back to try and get me to calm down.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay." He said gently, as I closed my eyes and tried to forget everything. It didn't work.

"B-but Patrick...Patrick..." I sobbed tearlessly, not caring that people were probably staring at the two of us by now.

"I know." He murmured softly.

Gradually, he pulled away, giving my shoulders a squeeze as my breathing slowed down a bit.

"Come on, let's go find Joe."

He gripped my arm and led me down the corridor, letting me cling to him, and he seemed to know where he was going because suddenly, the noise died down, and we were in a small room with chairs lined up along the walls and several big pairs of white doors leading off it.

Sitting in the corner, legs pulled up around him, was Joe.

He raised his head when we walked in. He looked awful. His skin was drained of all colour and there were lots of little cuts on his face, some with tiny white plasters on them. Reddish-purple bruises crept along his eyebrow. One of his arms was in a sling.

"Hey, Joe," Andy said as he guided the two of us towards the corner, "how – how're you doing?"

He shrugged, then winced and touched his shoulder. We sat down opposite him.

"Fine, I guess. Got some cuts and bruises and fucked my shoulder up, but that's about it." He avoided both of our gazes.

"Do you need anything? Coffee? Food?" Andy asked kindly.

Joe just shook his head.

We sat in silence for longer than I could bear.

I bit my lip to keep myself from screeching questions at him. Andy took a deep breath, looking steadily at Joe, who stared into his lap.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

Joe rubbed his face with his free hand, closing his eyes as if readying himself for what was to come.

"You don't have to if you're not ready."

But he shook his head, sitting up a little bit in his seat. He spoke slowly and reluctantly, his voice monotonous.

"No, you guys need to know. Uh...okay. So...uh, we'd just got on to the motorway, you know, the huge one that goes near the studio. I...I'd wanted to talk to him, you know that Pete, and I know I said all those things to you before, but I honestly just wanted to make sure he was alright." He cast a small glance at me, and it was a strange mix of scared and dead.

"I was talking to him about you, how..." he swallowed nervously, "how I thought he should break up with you. And about kicking you out the band. But...he never answered me, he just kinda stared out the window, and I wanted him to listen to me. I started to get frustrated, I...I was yelling at him, and he just wasn't saying anything, so I got angrier, and...and I stopped looking at the road. And because I was yelling, I...I didn't hear him tell me I was going too fast. Or that there were lights up ahead. And then...and...and then..." His voice cracked, and he picked at a loose thread on the sling. My grip on the arm of the chair tightened.

"We...we went straight through the middle of this fucking massive junction...and...I don't really remember much, but this car smashed right into the side of us. Apparently we skidded, like, a hundred metres down the highway. I think I blacked out for a bit, because the next thing I remember was someone opening the door and asking if I could hear them. I don't know who called the ambulance. Someone just kept telling me to keep calm.

"I didn't know what the hell had happened. I couldn't really feel anything, or hear much either. But...but I remember looking over, and seeing the window smashed, and the windscreen too, and the metal all bent up and sticking out everywhere, and...he was sitting there, like, completely still, and I think I tried to get his attention but he didn't answer.

"Then the ambulance arrived. I think there was a few of them, there was a lot of sirens. And...they asked me lots of questions, a lot of them about whether my neck hurt, but I couldn't really feel much anyway so I just said no. And...and then they helped me out of the car, and told me I was in shock and took me to one of the ambulances. There were so many cars everywhere, I think some of them just wanted to know what was going on, but they'd cut off, like, the whole highway. The car that hit us looked pretty messed up too, I think there was two people in there, but the ambulance people told me that they were both gonna be okay.

"But...they went all quiet when...when I asked about...about Patrick. They...they said they didn't know. They couldn't open the door, it was all messed up, they...there were loads of fire people around...they...they had to cut him out the car.

"They...they told me I shouldn't watch, but I had to, I had to. He...I don't think he was conscious. They put this board thing behind him...they said it was to make sure his spine didn't get damaged...or...or any more damaged." He pressed his fingers into his eyes and pulled his knees closer to his chest. I was frozen in my seat.

"Then...they got the roof off, and the door, and they got him out. I...I didn't look for that bit. But then...he...he started to wake up. And...and they put him on the stretcher thing and he...started to...to make these noises...like crying but worse...they said it was because of the stress and the trauma and stuff....but it was horrible...the sound of someone...someone in more pain than they could bear.

"They didn't let me watch when they took him to the ambulance, they wouldn't let me go with him. They said I needed to be treated too, or whatever, and they took me in a different ambulance. I kept asking, but they didn't tell me anything, they just said he needed emergency care.

"That's basically it. They took me here, they said I cracked my shoulder blade, and it was weird 'cause it only hurt after they told me. They said I should go home and rest and stuff but I couldn't leave. Apparently the couple in the other car are okay, the girl broke her jaw on the steering wheel and I think the guy had a broken leg or something, but it could've been worse.

"So now I'm here. He's somewhere through there," he pointed towards the big white doors, "but all they told me was that he's in a critical condition or something, and that it's too early to say and they'll keep me informed. That's it, really." He sighed, burying his face in his knees.

Nobody said anything for a long time.

I only realised I was crying when I saw drops of water on my sweater.

Andy put an arm around my shoulders and I huddled into him, wanting to ignore everything Joe just said and let it consume my brain at the same time.

"Have you told anyone other than us?" Andy asked, keeping his tone soft.

Joe nodded, "I called his parents. They're in Europe, they're gonna get here when they can."

"How did they take it?"

"His dad just kinda took it all in, then told me to call them when there's more news. His...his mum picked up first, though. Telling a mother her son's dying is one of the hardest things I've ever done." He sniffed, closing his eyes again.

"Don't say that!" Andy suddenly snapped, causing both me and Joe to look up. "He's not fucking dying!"

His grip on my shoulder tightened. He looked down at me. I couldn't stop shaking, I couldn't think straight or breathe right. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening._

"It'll be okay, it's gonna be okay." He whispered into my ear, but his voice shook and I knew he didn't quite believe it.

We waited for what felt like hours and hours. 

 

"Anyone here for Mr. Patrick Stump?"

We all looked up. A doctor had emerged from the double doors, and was looking around at the little groups of people in the waiting room. Joe jumped up immediately. "We are."

She nodded, "If you'd like to come with me." She beckoned for us to follow her.

The tight feeling in my chest got stronger. I didn't want to know anything else, I didn't want this situation to become any more real. Shutting my eyes, I covered my face with my hands, shaking my head and trying to hold back the sobs.

"Come on, Pete." Andy said, hauling me out of the chair and onto my feet.

The doctor disappeared into a little room just off of the waiting room, and we went after her. Joe went first. Andy had to practically drag me along, because my feet didn't want to move and every muscle in my body was tensed.

We sat down opposite her as she closed the door. I tried to compose myself, wiping the tears from my face and trying to teach myself how to breathe properly. _It could be good news. It has to be good news._

Her face was unreadable, though. She looked at each of us individually, as if tailoring what she was going to say on how we might react. "Now, as you know, Mr. Stump was involved in a traffic collision earlier today. I understand that you, Mr. Trohman, were injured in the same incident?"

He nodded slowly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay," he mumbled, not looking at her.

"It's likely that you'll be in shock for at least the next few hours, so make sure to get plenty of rest and to eat and drink regularly."

"Okay."

She shuffled the papers in front of her. "Now, in the case of Mr. Stump, his condition is rather more serious. We have taken several x-rays to determine the extent of his injuries, and I am afraid to tell you that, uh," she paused for a second, looking around as if the right words might be floating through the air, "it's...it's not looking good."

I felt a chill run through me. Andy grabbed my arm and squeezed it tight.

"He has several puncture wounds from the metal frame of the car, along with extensive bruising as a result of the seatbelt. However, the force of the collision was such that most of the right side of his ribcage has been crushed. Broken ribs often lead to quite serious complications, which don't always show up on x-rays, and in Mr. Stump's case, we cannot determine the internal damage he has suffered without further, more invasive examination.

"Currently, he is in theatre, undergoing keyhole surgery on his chest cavity. There is a substantial chance that a fractured rib has punctured one of his coronary arteries. If this is the case, he will require open heart surgery."

I tasted bile in the back of my throat. The room began to tilt, and my head spun with it. I tried to focus on Andy's hand around my wrist, on his steady breathing, trying to match my own breaths to it.

I heard Joe speak hoarsely. "Wha – what's keyhole surgery?"

"It is a technique that allows us to assess and operate upon internal damage. Small incisions will be made in Mr. Stump's chest in order for-"

"Is he gonna live?" I blurted loudly, staring at the doctor with wide eyes. All she had to do was nod. Just nod, or say _yes_ , or give me any kind of affirmation. Anything.

But she just pursed her lips and looked at me sadly. My stomach dropped. "I...I'm afraid I can't give you that assurance."

I shook my head. "No, no, you have to. He has to live. He has to."

"I'm sorry sir, his injuries are-"

"No, he's not gonna die. He's not. Tell me he's not, tell me that now." My hands were coiled into fists. Andy placed a hand on my shoulder.

"We're doing everything we can to save him, I can tell you that."

"THEN DO _MORE_!" I screamed, leaping from my seat and slamming my hands down on her desk.

I felt Andy's hands clamp down on my arms, and struggled against them.

"Pete-"

"Sir, I understand your distress but-"

"NO! I can't lose him, don't you get it, I can't lose him!" My voice rang around the room, before I felt a collapsing sensation in my chest.

Andy spun me round gently and pulled me into his arms, and I caved, my muscles going limp and the tears finally starting to fall.

"I can't lose him." I mumbled into Andy's shirt.

Everything I was feeling started to flood from me in violent sobs. I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't keep going with the image of you in that car, screaming in agony, or on that operating table as they cut you open.

I had to, though. I let Andy guide me out of the room, not letting go of me, and sit me down in the waiting room again. He let me hold onto him, let me cry into his shoulder.

 

I can still feel the tears on my face as I write this. My hand's shaking so much, I can hardly read what I'm writing. Joe and Andy are still sitting across the room. Andy's got his arm round Joe now. He shrugged it off at first, told Andy to get off, but after a bit he hugged Andy back. They're looking at me sadly, I think they think I'm writing lyrics or something. I had to get away from them, had to find some way of distracting myself from the endless waiting. I keep watching the doors, knowing that at any moment, someone could come out and tell us that you're dead.

I can't bear it. I don't understand how this all happened so quickly. I can't think about the fact that I might not see you alive again. What if the next time I hold your hand, it's cold, or the next time I look into your eyes, there's no light in them?

I've never felt anything like this. It's worse than depression. It's like I've been shot, like I'm dead but for some reason I'm still breathing. You can't go. You're not gonna leave me, you're not. Whatever happened to you, whatever they're doing to your heart, you can get through it. You're strong, you can get through it.

I wish I could go to you. I wanna just run through those double doors and find where they took you, and hold your hand and tell you that it's okay, you're gonna be okay, and kiss you and stop you hurting. But it's out of my control. And that's the worst thing about it. I can't do anything, I've just gotta wait while other people try to save your life. You saved me, and I can't return the favour.

I'm not religious. But if there's a god, tell them I'll do anything. Please, if ever there was a moment for a miracle, this is it. I need him, please, I'll do anything anyone up there wants me to do if you save my angel for me. I beg you. 

I can't do this. The waiting, the praying. I'm dealing with each second at a time. If I can get through one second, maybe I can get through ten. Maybe twenty. Maybe sixty. I'll drag myself through this, I can't do it but that doesn't matter because I have to. 

But you'll be okay. You'll be okay. Ribs heal, they'll put you back together, I promise.

Please, baby, please, be strong.

I love you. I can't lose you. Please.

Pete.


	34. Chapter 34

Angel.

I will never stop loving you. I promise you that.

-

We sat in that waiting room for an eternity.

I tried to distract myself, tried to sleep, tried to talk, but in the end, I just ended up staring at the hands of the big clock on the wall go round and round and round.

It was like all my reasons for living were being slowly squeezed out of me, minute by minute. There were so many things I wanted to know, like what they were doing to you, where you were, whether you were still breathing. But at the same time, I didn't know if I'd be able to live through the answers.

Andy and Joe stayed on the other side of the room, and I swear to god Joe never looked up from the floor. Andy just sat there, an arm round Joe's good shoulder, occasionally throwing worried glances at me. He could see I was falling apart.

I'd memorised the number of diamond patterns on the far wall of the waiting room, counted all the chairs and mentally ordered them by the direction they were facing, and calculated the exact amount of seconds we'd been here. There was no peace, I felt like I'd never breathe without pushing back sobs, never blink without holding in tears.

People came and went from the room, some going to speak to doctors and coming back with smiles, others talking cheerfully to each other as if there weren't people dying behind those doors. They just went about their normal lives, whilst we sat there, frozen with anxiety, as we waited to see whether or not the trigger was gonna be pulled on our whole world.

After a very long while of deep breaths and fidgeting minds, Andy sighed and finally spoke.

"Uh...shall we – shall we go get some coffee or something?"

Me and Joe both looked at him with offended confusion, "No," we snapped in unison.

He held his hands up, "okay, okay, I just – I can't stand this."

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling so hard it hurt. "I know. I can't do it."

"It's fine, Pete, it's gonna be fine." But I could tell he didn't believe himself. My fingers coiled up and my eyes fell shut."Uh...okay, well, I'm gonna go get something. You want anything at all?" Andy looked at each of us, but we just shook our heads.

I watched him disappear from the room, before covering my face with my hands.

A few moments of silence passed. I heard someone take a breath.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

I looked up again. This time, it was Joe who'd spoken. He was gazing at me, guilty and defeated. I gazed back. Then I realised something that hadn't quite dawned on me before.

This was all his fault.

"You're _sorry_?" I said, tilting my head to one side without breaking eye contact.

Joe raised his eyebrows in shock at my retort, blinking at me. "I...uh..."

"Your _best friend_ might be _dead_ because of you!"

"I-"

"But oh, it's okay because you're _sorry_. Sorry doesn't fix his fucking ribcage!"

I suddenly found myself standing up, my hands shaking in fists at my sides and my breaths ragged. Joe shrunk away from me.

"Don't act all fucking scared. You were fine talking shit about me behind my back, weren't you? So why don't you say what you think of me to my face?"

He didn't speak, but I saw his jaw clench and his fingers curl up.

"Come on, then! You know you fucking want to! You seem to enjoy hurting your friends, so-"

"You filthy hypocrite!" Joe suddenly yelled, jumping up and staring me straight in the face, his voice shaking."You're the one that's been abusing him! You're the one that beats the hell out of him every fucking night! You've-"

"That's not true! The only times I've hit him are the ones you know about, I'm not like that any more!"

"Oh, so you're just magically better now are you?"

"Don't turn this on me! This is about _you_ , and that fact that this is all your fault! If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be having _heart surgery_ , he wouldn't be nearly fucking _dead_!"

"It was an accident! Do you think I meant for any of this to happen?"

"I don't give a shit if you meant it or not! It doesn't change the fact that I might have lost the love of my life!" My voice cracked as I said it.

"Oh so you love him now, do you? 'Cause it sure as hell didn't look like it when you were choking the life out of him on your lounge floor! Sure as hell didn't look like an accident, either!" His face was inches from mine, spitting crumpled words at me.

"Uh, gentlemen, would you mind keeping your voices down? There are families around." The sweet little lady at the reception desk was watching us, looking scared.

We huffed at her, and lowered our voices from distraught screaming to distraught shouting.

"Of course I love him! You know I never meant any of that stuff!"

"Okay, so when you pretended to _kill_ yourself as a joke, you were just conveying your _undying love_ for him, were you? When you faked getting back together with him then _kicked_ him and _threatened_ him, you were simply _expressing your affection_?"

"I-"

"When you _raped_ him, it was purely out of fucking _loved-up passion_ , was it? You're a fucking psychopath! You keep hurting him and I can't stand it, he deserves better than you!"

That stung. I felt the tears gather in my eyes, but stared into Joe's face all the same. My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I never stopped his heart, though."

His eyes widened, and horror crept into them. He held my gaze for as long as he could, but he had to blink some point, and when he did, he sent tears trickling down his cheeks. I felt the crippling grief flare up inside me again.

"What in the name of fuck is going on?!"

Joe glanced over my shoulder as I turned in alarm at the voice. It was Andy. He held a paper coffee cup in his hand and an expression of knowing shock in his eyes.

"You're yelling at each other? _Again_?"

Joe and I took a deep breath. "We just-"

"No! You know what, I don't wanna hear it!" He yelled, striding over and standing in front of us. The receptionist opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it and sighed heavily.

"All you two ever do is argue all the fucking time! You used to be friends, for god's sake! Do you realise that without this fucking feud, we wouldn't even be here?" He turned to Joe, "You'd never have crashed the fucking car if you hadn't been shouting about Pete, and Patrick would be alive and well and not in some room getting cut open!"

Joe closed his eyes, and a few more tears slid down his face.

Andy's expression softened. "Look, I know you didn't mean to cause any of this, and I know you care about him. You only want to help him, but the thing is, this is _not_ helping! Pete loves him, and believe it or not, he loves Pete too. You've gotta accept that, stop trying to push them apart, it's their relationship, they need each other."

Joe gave a small nod, and cast his gaze down to the floor. Andy turned to me.

"Pete,  Joe is one of Patrick's best friends, he needs Joe as much as he needs you. You need to stop being so protective, Joe is entitled to be worried. You've done some despicable things to Patrick in the past, and Joe's only trying to stop them happening again. He cares about him as much as you do, Patrick doesn't belong to you. He needs his friends too. And blaming Joe for the accident is not fair, it could just as easily been you, in that car, yelling."

I sniffed and nodded too.

"Guys, I know you both have the best intentions. But you're hurting him more than you're helping him. He's not some trophy to be squabbled over. You're so focussed on getting one up on each other that neither of you ever seem to stop and think what Patrick might be feeling. You're ruining things for him, just look at what happened on his damn birthday, poor kid. He might be dead behind those doors, do you realise that? Dead. Gone." His voice started to break up, "and all you can do is fight about it. Please, just stop this! Stop making him choose between his best friend and his boyfriend. He loves both of you, and right now, he sure as hell needs both of you."

He cast a glance towards the white doors, and sunk into a chair, running his fingers through his hair and blowing out a slow breath. His words bounced around my skull.

Joe looked at me with wide eyes, biting hard on his lip. Then he broke down.

Grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a tight hug, his body shook, sobs spilling from his lips. I put my arms round him tentatively. I'd never seen Joe like this. Hell, I'd never even seen him cry, I just assumed he didn't have tear ducts, he's just not a crying kinda guy. But then neither is Andy, and could hear his strangled sniffs from where he sat, head bowed.

So I cried too. Because during all that arguing, I'd forgotten that you were lying somewhere behind those doors. And I couldn't lose you. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't let myself think about what I'd do without you.

 _You can't be gone._ I kept telling myself that. It wasn't possible, there's no version of my life that doesn't include you. But the doctor's words just rang around my head like a bell, _it's not looking good._

And the look in her eyes. It was all sadness. She knew there wasn't much hope for you, she knew you were dying. She knew I'd lose everything on that operating table.

So I just kept sobbing into Joe's shoulder, wishing that when I opened my eyes, I'd wake up, in my own bed and covered in sweat, and crawl out the covers and run to you, to your flat and bang on your door and you'd open it, standing there with your hair all fluffed up and your adorable pyjamas on, and you'd hug me and kiss me and tell me that everything was gonna be okay, and I'd snuggle up with you and tell you about my horrible dream and you'd tell me not to worry because you were here and smiling and alive.

But when I opened my eyes, I was in the same waiting room, the same white doors staring at me. And you weren't here, or smiling. I didn't want to think about the other one.

I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to drown myself in darkness, saving all my memories of you, wrapping them up tight and keeping them safe forever, along with my future with you, all the dates we'd never have, all the kisses I'd never feel. I was gonna marry you someday.

-

Through the small round windows of the double doors, I saw a doctor approaching.

It was her.

No. No.

I let go of Joe and turned my back on the doors, burying my face in my hands and sobbing harder. _I can't. I just can't do this._

I heard the doors open. Andy stood up quickly, grabbing Joe's arm.

I started to pray more desperately than ever. _Please. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay. He doesn't deserve any of this, it should have been me, let it be me, he has to be okay, please, please._

_Please._

"Friends of Mr. Stump?"

_No. Please no._

"Ah, yes. If you'd like to follow me?"

I shook my head, curling up into a ball on the chair and screwing my eyes shut.

I felt arms hook underneath my own, pulling me roughly to my feet. It was Andy.

"We gotta know, Pete." he said softly, guiding me towards the room the doctor had disappeared into. The one we'd gone to before.

But the thing was, I didn't want to know. I didn't wanna know anything. I just wanted to stay in the darkness of my eyelids, not thinking or feeling or breathing. I buried my head in Andy's shoulder and he held me close. We stepped inside the room.

The doctor shut the door behind us.

Joe slumped into one of the chairs, and we followed suit. Andy didn't let go of me, so I was pretty much sitting on his lap, wishing prayers at his collar. He held onto my wrist. His knuckles were white as paper.

I heard the doctor take a breath.

_This is it._

_Please._

"The surgery revealed no significant internal damage."

_No, no, no, this isn't happening, you can't leave me, you can't, I can't do this, I-_

Wait.

My head snapped up.

"Wha – what?" Joe breathed.

The doctor smiled. "He will make a full and fast recovery."

We stared at her.

My heart skipped a couple beats.

I looked at Andy. He looked right back.

And in the same moment, our faces split into the biggest smiles we'd ever felt, the relief coursing through us like a river, cascading in waterfalls and sparkling in our eyes. It was like taking a breath after being slowly suffocated, or, or tasting bread after being starved, I couldn't even comprehend it, it washed away all the blackness in my brain and spilled from my lips in joyous gasps.

He hugged me so tight, laughing breathlessly into my ear and slapping me on the back. "I told you, I told you he'd be fine, it's gonna be fine, he's fine, oh my god he's fine!"

Because you were gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay. Oh my god.

"Oh my god!" Joe practically screamed, jumping up from his seat. He clapped his hands together and punched the air, looking up towards the ceiling as if to thank whatever greater power had seen fit to bring you back to us.

My smiles grew into laughs as me and Andy rose from our seats and grabbed Joe, trying not to crush his shoulder as we threw our arms round him and made a Joe sandwich, putting our heads together and letting our happiness ring around the room.

You're gonna be okay. I couldn't quite process it, I just felt this elation, because a voice in my mind was running around like a headless chicken and screaming that I'd get to see you again, see you smile, hear you sing, feel your lips, you weren't gone, you were here, in this building, _alive._ You'd listened to me, you'd been strong, you'd got through it, and now I have no idea why I doubted you in the first place, because _of course_ you'd live, the light in your eyes is too bright to be extinguished. You'd come back to me, like you always do. You said you'd never leave me, and you always keep your promises.

We were all a mess of smiles and sobs, tears still running down our faces, but this time for very different reasons, all huddled up in the small room but making enough noise for a whole football stadium.

I was breathing hard when we finally broke apart; I ran round the desk and grabbed the doctor, squeezing her tight. "Thank you, thank you so much, thank you, oh god thank you..." I repeated over and over, before letting her go and wiping my eyes.

She beamed at me, laughing along with us, "we're simply doing our jobs, sir."

"Well you did a fucking good job, oh my god, you saved him, thank you, you kept him here for me, thankyouthankyouthankyou!" I scooped her up in another massive hug, the happiness tingling right to my fingertips.

I think I nearly passed out, because everything started to go a bit blurry and I was breathing so fast I could hardly think straight.

But soon I was engulfed by either Joe or Andy, I think it was Andy because he smelt cleaner, and it felt like this would be a really good time to drop streamers from the ceiling and crowd-surf.

Once we'd all managed to calm down a little bit, if only outwardly, the doctor coughed slightly and we turned to face her. I tried to make the permanent smile on my face look a little less creepy.

"He is currently being transferred from recovery to the ward. You may see him now, if you'd like."

And we did like. "Are you serious?" I asked, bouncing up and down on the spot.

"He is asleep at the moment, as the anaesthetic hasn't quite worn off, but he'll wake up very soon."

Obviously you're asleep. The things you'll do for a lie-in.

She beckoned for us to follow her, and walked out of the room, through the waiting room and off down a corridor. I resisted the urge to cheer as we finally, _finally_ got away from that awful place.

We probably looked like idiots to everyone, skipping alongside the doctor like we were in some kind of nursery rhyme, but it didn't matter because we were going to see you, and you'd still be breathing and maybe I could talk to you or hug you or kiss you and that song that goes _celebrate good times_ was playing real loud in my head.

"So how's he doing? When will he be better?" Joe asked excitedly as we got into a lift.

"He's doing well," she said, as she pressed buttons and they lit up, "he gave us quite a scare, but sustained no heart or lung damage from the crash. His ribs have been re-aligned, and will take around two months to heal fully. He did, however, sustain severe bruising, which may mean that he, uh, looks worse than he is. They will fade soon enough, though."

The lift went _ding_ and the doors opened, and now there were even more corridors. _Ugh, I wanna see you already._ But it was fine, we're getting there, we're getting to you and we'll be there soon.

When we walked through one last set of double doors, there was a reception desk, and a load of people rushing around and trying not to bump into each other.

"Three visitors for Mr. Patrick Stump," the doctor stated as we walked past, smiling at the receptionist. I like the doctor, she seems like a nice person. Although, to be honest, with the news I'd just gotten, I'd probably treat Attila the Hun like he was a nice person.

Everything was so brightly lit that I got a bit of shock when we walked past a window and I saw that it was dark. On the horizon, there was a faint glow of the rising sun. We'd been here the whole night. I hadn't slept in a while. Before, I'd been too petrified, and now, I was too excited. I had no idea what time it was.

"It's technically before visiting hours, but given the circumstances..." the doctor mused as she stopped outside a door. "He's just in here."

She opened the door and beckoned us inside. "I'll give you some privacy. If you need anything, press the button at the end of the bed."

We nodded quickly, stepping inside one after the other. Joe went in first. I heard his breath catch.

He reached out a hand and grabbed my wrist, stopping dead and pulling me into the room.

When I saw you, my breath caught too.

You were lying there, perfectly still, your head propped up by pillows and your arms lying next to you, outside the pale blue covers. I now understand the full meaning of _severe bruising._

The right side of your face was almost unrecognisable. Furious black marks spread over your cheek and eye, swollen and purple around the edges. They were so dark, it was difficult to believe it was skin and not paint. They'd poisoned your neck, too, disappearing under your collar and creeping out from your sleeve and down your arm. Patches of red interrupted them here and there, the scraped skin spitting blood so dark, it was hardly distinguishable from the bruises. Even on the left side of you, there were patches of purple, and little cuts peppered your skin all over. A bigger one ran along your eyebrow, done up with those little white plasters like Joe had, and another spilled from your lip to your chin. Fuck.

I swallowed, breathing deeply and slowly. I felt Andy put an arm around me. Suddenly I didn't want to be here any more. I wanted to run away to the past where everything was okay.

But then, I realised that it could have been so much worse. Instead of lying there, all beat up, you could be lying in a mortuary. Instead of putting bandages on you, I could be putting you in the ground.

We all stood there for a bit, just staring, until I decided that this was stupid because you were right there and you were sleeping but you were okay and you'd get better and up until half an hour ago, we'd thought you were dead, so I shook off the shock and stumbled to your side, planting myself in one of the chairs and scooting it closer to the bed.

Slowly and carefully, I reached out, stroking my thumb across your cheek and feeling your feathery skin. I felt my heart lift when I touched you because you were warm, your lips were pink, and as I cupped your face I could feel your pulse, and your chest was rising and falling slowly because you were _alive._

Andy came and sat beside me, and Joe the other side, both still staring at you as if you were an expensive guitar with a broken string. But strings are fixed easy.

I ran my fingers along your un-bruised arm, gently lifting your limp hand and clasping it between both of my own, stroking your fingers and thinking that of all the hands I've ever seen, yours are the prettiest, even with all the bumps and bruises.

I was just about to lean down and kiss you on the cheek when Andy spoke.

"Listen..." he whispered, raising his head and looking around at nothing.

Me and Joe exchanged confused glances, wondering if maybe all that healthiness had caused Andy to have a breakdown, but we listened anyway.

At first, I didn't hear anything, just my own breathing, but then I began to hear the sound of the beepy heart rate machine thing. I hadn't even noticed it before, but now it cut through my thoughts and became the only thing I could hear. Until Andy's voice sounded again.

"He's waking up!" He said, a smile tugging at his lips. And sure enough, as I listened, the beeps got a little bit quicker, and your breaths got a little bit faster.

I squeezed your hand lightly, as if to drag you from the weird anaesthetic void, and watched your face for any sign of movement. "Come on, Patrick, baby," I whispered, "wake up, sweetheart." Apparently in times of crisis, my pet-name fetish really comes to the forefront.

Your other hand twitched, the one with the needle thingy in it, and Joe grabbed your fingers, patting them as if to encourage them to do it again.

Suddenly, your eyebrows rose slightly, and you took in a deep breath, your nostrils flaring and your lips parting. Then, you opened your eyes.

They were so blue, the bright lights shimmering through them like sunlight through a swimming pool, and my god, I'd forgotten what they could do to me. You blinked a few times, your gaze on the ceiling, and I could see your brain trying to work out what the hell was happening.

I smiled at you and clasped your hand a bit tighter, watching as you figured everything out, occasionally blinking slowly like a cat does when it's sleepy. I couldn't help but let out a little _aww._ How can you be cute even when you just nearly died?

"Hey, dude, how're you feeling?" Andy said gently, peering at you as your eyes flitted around, looking for something to focus on. They managed to follow Andy's voice, and rested on him steadily as if trying to translate what he'd said.

You opened your mouth to say something, but only breath came out. Slowly, your eyes shifted to me, studying my face like you'd never seen it before. I grinned at you, and my heart leapt when I saw your lips curve up in the same way. Not that this was a competition or anything, but I got your first smile.

Then, as if you'd suddenly remembered you had a mouth, you tried to speak.

"H – hello," you croaked, glancing at each of us and earning a laugh from Joe.

"Hello," he said back, playing with the covers of the bed.

"Which – which one of these is mine?" You mused, looking down the bed at our hands, still firmly entwined. I felt your fingers move a little, and raised them off the sheets gently.

"This one," I giggled, lifting your hand to my mouth and kissing it softly.

Your eyes lit up, and another of those smiles tugged at your lips.

Wriggling your fingers again, I could tell you probably wanted freedom for your hand, so I let go. You didn't lower your arm, though, instead, you reached out and poked my cheek, before running your fingers over my face, over my lips and nose, each of my eyebrows, and finally lingering on the skin under my eyes.

"Why are you crying?" You asked, your eyebrows knitting together as you felt the tears from my eyes between your fingers.

I smiled sadly. "Because I thought I lost you."

"Why, where did I go?"

You looked so genuinely confused, and it was so sweet, it made my heart ache. I glanced at Joe, silently asking whether we should tell you or not. He sighed.

"You – you were in a car crash, Patrick." he said, as if each word was painful.

You gazed at him for a bit, before closing your eyes again, humming quietly under your breath. "... _long live the car crash hearts..."_

Andy let out a little disbelieving laugh as we all stared at you, still softly singing, as if you weren't covered in bruises or made of broken bones.

"Uh...Patrick, are you okay?" Joe said, patting your arm lightly. You stopped singing, opening your eyes again and staring at him as if he'd just asked you the meaning of life.

"That's a strange question," you marvelled, lifting your hand again and floating it towards Joe. "Why do you have things on your face?" You pointed at the little white plasters and the cuts.

Joe laughed weakly. "I was in a car crash too."

"Snap!" you giggled, patting his nose with your little finger.

He smiled briefly, then took your hand away from his face and put it back on the bed. "It – it was the same car crash."

You smiled. "Okay then. Is that why my arm's purple?" You looked down at it curiously, as if you'd just discovered a new species of arm.

"Uh...yeah." Joe mumbled, gazing down into his lap.

He was snapped out of his reverie, though, when we heard a knock at the door.

It opened, and the doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard, smiling at each of us as she approached the bed. "Welcome back, Mr. Stump. How are you feeling?"

You shut your eyes thoughtfully, as if puzzling over the answer, then hummed, "sleepy."

She started fiddling with some of the machines, pressing buttons and picking up wires. "That's perfectly normal after being anaesthetised."

"Is it normal for him to be talking complete crap?" I asked, 'cause I was getting kinda worried that the operation had mangled your brain.

But she laughed. "Yes, it's normal. The effects vary from person to person, some get dizzy, or nauseous. He's had a rough night, he's undoubtedly feeling quite confused."

"I'm confused!" you exclaimed, like a kid shouting out an answer in class. I couldn't help but laugh at you, it was like you'd morphed into a four-year-old.

You heard my laugh and gazed at me, as if trying to read my thoughts. It was funny, the look in your eyes seemed so distant, as if you were trying to see me from a mile away. You sighed briefly, then reached out for my hand, wriggling your fingers as if you were trying to summon it with magic. I took your hand and squeezed it, and you kept staring at me.

"Your face is nice," you said absent-mindedly, your gaze wandering over my features.

I smiled. "It's got nothing on yours."

At that, even through the bruises, I saw your cheeks turn pink, and you smiled so wide, the cut on your lip split. A drop of red oozed out of it, but you hardly seemed to notice, humming contentedly and shutting your eyes.

I reached out a hand and gently dabbed away the blood, running a thumb over your lips. Fuck, I wanted to kiss you so bad.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. We'll talk more about your situation and recovery when you've had some rest, Mr. Stump." She gave us all a kind smile and headed for the door. "I'd recommend you three to go and get some sleep, too, especially you, Mr. Trohman. He'll still be here in the morning."

Joe nodded, but didn't budge.

"Does – does that mean I can sleep now?" You asked, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, sweetheart, you can sleep."

"Pete," you said quickly, patting me on the arm, "we – we should call the next record something French."

I laughed. "Okay. Why French?"

"Because they have the baguettes."

Obviously.

"I like soup."

"I know, Patrick."

"Spoons are useful for soup."

"Yes they are."

"What's French for spoon?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. That's okay, don't feel bad about it." You patted me again, and I swear to god your adorable-ness was getting more than I could handle. I wish you were in this good a mood when you woke up normally. "I'm tired." You mumbled, screwing up your eyes.

"You can sleep now, baby, the doctor said."

You held my hand a bit tighter. "If I sleep, will you be here when I wake up?"

I nodded, "Of course. I'm not gonna leave."

"Thank you." You breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I love you." I whispered, hoping you'd heard.

"I love you too." The last words were lost as your lips stilled and the sounds died in your throat.

I smiled again, feeling my chest swell and my heart fill. I'm so glad I got to hear you say those words again. Lifting myself out of the chair a little, I leaned over and kissed you, ever so gently, on your perfect lips, stroking your face with my hand and tracing circles on your cheek.

I heard Andy cough. Oh yeah. I'd forgotten they were even there.

Tied between blushing and not giving a shit what they thought, I sat back down, sinking into my chair and just thinking things over. I couldn't believe how much had happened in a matter of hours. I also couldn't believe that you were lying there in front of me, and you'd just said you loved me, which makes me feel so good no matter how many times you say it. And you were gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.

Joe shifted in his seat, watching me as I gazed at your sleeping form.

"You really do love him, don't you?" he said gently.

"More than anything in the world."

He smiled. "Okay. Okay," he held out his good hand, "truce?"

I grinned, taking his hand and shaking it. "Truce."

-

They went home about an hour ago. Joe said he wanted to stay, but Andy and I knew he needed the sleep more than any of us, he could barely stay conscious in the end. He needed someone to drive him home, so Andy went too. He also said he'd go get some of your stuff from your house, clothes and toothbrushes and stuff. They'll be back when they've had some actual rest.

I should probably sleep too. I can feel the night catching up with me, my eyelids weigh a tonne. I'm still sitting here, next to you, just listening to your heartbeat and watching you breathe. It's really peaceful, actually, it's like that Zen stuff. I'm still holding your hand, too. It makes it kinda difficult to write, but I don't care. I don't wanna ever let go.

You're alive. I keep repeating it to myself, and letting the relief flood through me all over again. I can't believe how close I came to losing you forever.

I want to just say, if there's any kind of god up there, thank you. Thank you so, so much. But also, thank you to the doctors and nurses who worked to keep you alive. The people who aren't up there in the heavens, but down here, cutting you up and putting you back together. They saved your life, and mine too. Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.

I didn't think I'd write another of these. I thought I'd be crying over your body. But I'm not. Because you fucking survived. You were strong, you didn't fade like they thought you would, you didn't leave. You're not up there with the angels, you're down here, being my angel.

Thank you.

Sleep tight, baby.

From Pete

xxx


	35. Chapter 35

 

Dear Patrick,

I wish I could help. I really, really do.

I know it hurts. I get that you don't wanna go anywhere or see anyone. I wouldn't either. But you're different from me. You're not grumpy and antisocial, you're bubbly and smiley and you hold doors open for people and offer people biscuits when they come over and give out hugs without caring if you get a hug back. That's what you should be doing, that's the Patrick I know.

But you're not you at the moment. You still act like it, smiling and laughing, but none of it's ever quite real. You think I don't notice, but I do.

The painkillers help, I think. But they never make it go away. They don't kill the pain, they just knock it out for a while, before it gets up again and fights back, like those really annoying boss levels on video games.

I hate seeing you like this and not being able to do anything. I try my best, give you kisses if you want them and put on your favourite movies, and I'd do anything you asked, but the problem is, you never ask for anything. You just keep on insisting you're okay, that I shouldn't go to all this trouble, that I should stop worrying, because you're fine. But you're lying. You're lying to me.

Thinking back to that very first time I talked to you after you'd stopped being all funny and sleepy, I should have known that this wasn't gonna be easy.

-

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I was still holding your hand. The second thing I noticed was _oh my fucking god I should not have slept in this chair 'cause my neck is fucking killing me_. But then I remembered why I was in the chair, and sat up a bit more, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and letting my surroundings seep into my head.

You were propped up in the bed, your face turned away from me and towards the doctor, the glaring lights bathing everything in bright white.

"...initially thought your internal injuries were more serious, however, thankfully, we were wrong. You have three ribs broken in two places, one broken in four, and various other fractures, but they will heal just fine. The incisions from the operation have been stitched up, but the thread will dissolve as the cuts heal. You-"

"Ugh?" I failed at speaking as I stumbled into consciousness.

"Pete!" You croaked, turning to look at me and attempting a smile. You didn't get very far.

"Hey, Patrick, how're you feeling?" I asked, giving your hand a squeeze and finding myself more awake as I realised that this was gonna be the first sane conversation I'd had with you for a long time.

"Uh...okay, I guess."

"Not talking gibberish at me anymore, then?" I laughed.

You laughed too. "Uh...no. No more than usual."

I grinned, and so did you, but you only got about halfway before you winced and let go of my hand, touching your fingers to the cuts on your eyebrow and your lip. My hand suddenly felt cold and empty.

"Ow." You groaned, closing your eyes and wincing as you pressed at the bruises, as if testing they were real.

"Does it hurt a lot?" I frowned, looking at the doctor worriedly.

She sighed. "The face is a very sensitive area. It will heal quickly, though."

"And...uh...the ribs?" I asked cautiously. You opened your eyes.

"Ribs are notoriously painful, especially in cases with multiple fractures such as this." She said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But the most important thing is to take deep breaths, and to stay active. It will hurt, but if you don't breathe properly, you will be at risk of chest infection. Pain relief will help, though. Why don't you try to sit up a bit more, Mr. Stump?"

"Call me Patrick." You mumbled, before raising your head and using your arms to lever yourself upwards. As you did so, though, you took in a hissing breath through your teeth, your fingers clenching in the sheets.

I shot out an arm and steadied you, and the doctor did the same, and together we sat you up. You let out a little cry of pain that sent a bolt through my heart, and panted heavily.

"That's it, deep breaths," the doctor cooed, like she was your mum or something. That reminded me.

"Hey, do you wanna call your parents?" I asked, after you'd recovered a bit.

You looked at me quickly, your eyes lighting up a bit. "Yeah, yeah I do."

I quickly got out my mobile and handed it to you. "Joe called them right after the accident, and then again when we knew you were gonna be okay. They're on their way, as quick as they can."

You nodded, unlocking my phone because we shared passwords ages ago, and trying to dial the numbers with shaking hands.

"Hey, mum?" You said, putting it to your ear and speaking hopefully. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me. Yeah, I'm okay. No, don't worry, I'm fine. I know. I'm sorry. Well, yeah, but there was no real damage, so – no. Yeah, I just woke up. No, Pete's here. No, he's not. You don't have to – okay. Alright, mum. Look, no, I'm fine, I promise, everything's fine. Well I'm not. I know. Okay. Yeah. Love you too. See you soon. Bye, Mum."

You pressed the red button and it made a beepy noise, pulling me from my game of guess the other half of the conversation.

Smiling at the phone, you made to give it back to me, then stopped. You retracted your hand, staring at the screen, your smile dropping and horror creeping into your eyes.

I felt my stomach clench. _What is it now? Are you hurt, are you dying, has someone else died, what's happened, what more can happen?_

You breathed out a long, slow breath, holding the phone up more and tilting it around a bit.

I made a confused noise. _What the fuck are you looking at?_ The screen of the phone was blank, it wasn't showing you anything besides your own reflectio- _oh. Oh, shit._

I made to grab the phone from you to stop you torturing yourself any more, but you jerked your hand away.

Suddenly, you seemed to remember I was there, and gave me a weak smile.

"Hey, I'm even uglier than usual!" You laughed, shrugging your shoulders as if you didn't care. But there were tears in your eyes.

I frowned, reaching out and giving your shoulder a little shake. "No, don't talk like that. You're still the prettiest person I know." 

"Fuck off." You laughed again, but your voice cracked and your smile dropped too soon. You kept staring at yourself, with sad eyes you thought I couldn't see, ghosting your fingers over the bruises.

"Look, sweetheart, they'll heal, won't they?" I said gently, looking at the doctor for a bit of reinforcement. She got the hint.

"Yes, yes of course, you'll be good as new in no time."

You nodded, and let me take the phone from you this time. I clasped your hand between mine and squeezed it to try and make you look at me. But you just kinda stared at the covers, and I wanted so badly to know what you were thinking.

As you noticed me looking, you quickly bowed your head away from me, your fingers hiding the bruises. "Can – can you leave please?"

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Please."

I glanced at the doctor, whose eyes were flitting in between the two of us. "Why?" I asked, feeling kinda hurt, if I'm honest.

You peeked at me through your hand, your eyes sad, like it was obvious. "I – I don't want you to – to see."

I felt a pang of sympathy in my chest. Reaching out to you, I tugged at your wrist, prising your hand away from your face and turning your head towards me. "I said I'd stay with you, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"But-"

"No, Patrick, I don't care how you look, I don't care if you've got bruises and cuts, hell, if you had huge pus-filled boils all over your face, you'd still be fucking beautiful, because you're always fucking beautiful, and I'm just grateful you're here and alive and not dead because I thought you'd die, I thought I'd lost you but I haven't because you're here and I swear to god I didn't think it was possible to love you more than I did but now I look at you and I _do_ love you more, I love you more than anything and I'd really really like to kiss you please now?" I gushed, blinking, a bit taken aback by my sudden word-vomit.

I heard a small _aww_ -ing sound, and looked at the doctor, who put her hand over her mouth and blushed. "Sorry."

You stared at me, a smile creeping into your eyes, and gave a little nod.

Tilting my head to your left so my nose wouldn't hurt the bruises, I leaned across the bed, pressing my lips to yours. I became instantly addicted to you, and couldn't help but thread my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Your lips parted and I deepened the kiss, trying my best not to moan into your mouth because I remembered the doctor was there and I didn't wanna gross her out too much. But it'd been so long, or at least it'd felt like so long, it was all I could do not to rip that gown right off you and take you right here on this hospital bed.

The kiss ended too soon, though, and _oh great, now I'm horny, this is so inappropriate._ I could feel the heat in my face and felt kinda faint, too. It wasn't fair, you'd got me all flustered and you weren't even trying.

I grinned so wide I thought my face might split in two, and cuddled your good arm. And I heard that giggle, Patrick.

-

The rest of the time at the hospital was kinda dull. There were forms to fill out, people to call, our manager was pissed 'cause we'd have to push back the tour, then your parents turned up and they were happy and your mum cried and they hugged you like a billion times and every time you'd flinch 'cause it probably hurt like hell but you didn't say anything 'cause you didn't wanna hurt their feelings. Or maybe you just didn't want to admit to being hurt.

Also I have re-discovered that hospital food is awful and tastes of disinfectant and there's like nothing to do the whole day and if we play one more game of noughts and crosses I think I might just throw myself out the window. I stayed the night, obviously, and did stuff for you like get you hot chocolate from the café and then not be able to find the room again and kinda just wander the corridors until someone asked if I was okay.

After a couple days, though, they said you could go home. You were really happy when they told you, I could tell you hated it there, and so later that day, me and Joe and Andy helped get your flat ready and stock your fridge and change your bed covers and stuff, before going to pick you up.

It was difficult, because it hurt for you to walk and stuff, but we got you out the hospital and to your flat alright. We've still gotta go back quite often so they can check you're healing okay, but other than that, we're free. We all piled in through your door, and plopped down in various places around your lounge and talked about nothing for ages.

"Thriller was the best one, hands down, I'm not arguing about this." Andy had said, crossing his arms and scowling.

"No, Memories wins every time." Joe shot back, scowling twice as hard, but ruining it with a grin.

"Ugh, singles. Boring. Who cares if it sold the most, it's not the best."

"Nah, Arms Race sold the most."

"No it didn't."

"Yes it did, I remember the label telling us that."

"No, that was before Memories hit the charts."

"Shut up, no it wasn't."

"Thriller is still best."

"I kinda liked the one with the court case. What did we even call that one?"

"I dunno, ask the mighty namer of songs over there."

"Hey, you love my names!"

"Oh, yeah, I love it when I have to tell people that this song is called _I'm Like A Lawyer How I'm Trying To Get You Off_ or whatever the fuck it is. Why don't we just call it _Me And You, or Honeymoon,_ but noooo, Mr. Poet Man has to go think up some crazy-ass sentence I'll never remember."

"It's called creativity, Mr. Guitar Man."

"Piss off, you make up those titles in ten seconds."

"That's what makes me such a genius." I said, miming flipping hair over my shoulder.

"Such an asshole, more like." You chimed in.

"Hey, Patrick, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"I wasn't aware we were picking sides."

"I'll pick your side in a minute."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"You're a euphemism."

"Ugh."

"Ugh." We sneered at each other, giggling through our scowls. It was good to see you happy, like, naturally happy, rather than keeping-up-appearances happy. But, the others had to leave some point.

"We, uh, better go, I guess." Andy said, patting Joe on his good shoulder. Andy had been ferrying Joe around everywhere since his car was kinda fucked.

"Yep. We'll try not to die on the way home." Joe grinned, but there was guilt behind his eyes.

"Nobody's gonna die." Andy smiled, patting you on the head.

"Yeah, and we're fucking glad about that. We were gonna have to get Brendon to sing on the next record." Joe laughed, and so did you. Then, his face got all serious and un-Joe like. "But seriously, dude," he swallowed, "I'm so, so sorry. You have no idea how happy I am that you're okay. Thanks for, like, not dying and stuff."

You grinned. "That's okay. Now I only have to get Andy to nearly kill me and I've got the whole set."

We laughed, but I felt this huge stab of guilt in my chest.

 

It didn't really go away, either, even when Andy and Joe had left. I just kept looking at you, curled up at the end of the sofa, with bruises that could so easily have been because of me.

"Uh...Patrick, it's getting late, I should go too." I sighed, standing up and making for the door. You looked up sharply.

"Don't."

"What?" I said stupidly, turning back to look at you. You were staring straight at me with wide eyes.

"Please don't go." Your voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"Uh..." I mumbled as I thought. I tried to ignore the voice in my head screaming _oh my god he wants you to stay here, you guys are so cute._ Because there was this other voice, from my neck this time, saying _no way in hell am I sleeping on the damned couch again._

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, you can sleep with me. Well, you can sleep in my bed." You said, like you'd read my mind.

"Really? Are you sure you aren't sick of me after three days of being stuck in hospital?"

"No, I'm not sick of you," you said, but then bowed your head and picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch. "I'm sick of me."

I know that feeling. And I sure as hell didn't want you to be feeling that feeling. I practically ran over to you and hugged you as gently but enthusiastically as I could. "Don't be sick of you, you're amazing. And I'd love to stay. I'll look after you."

"No, no, you don't need to look after me, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't've asked."

But it was only an act. "No, you know what, I'm staying anyway, whether you need me to or not." I huffed, linking my arm with yours.

"Okay."

I pecked you lightly on the cheek. "Now, how about hot chocolate and Ghostbusters?"

You smiled with the good half of your face and nodded.

We spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch and laughing at each other's frothy moustaches.

-

So that's pretty much it, I guess. I mean, you can do most things by yourself now, so I'm not really needed, but I'll be damned if I don't ride this wave for as long as I can. It's nice that you need me, 'cause I always felt like I was the one that needed you all the time. But now it's like I'm returning the favour.

There's a downside, though. Yeah, I get to be around you, but you're not yourself. You spend a lot of time hunched over your laptop, trying to write songs then getting frustrated because your hand is all bruised and doesn't work properly.

They haven't faded yet. They're a slightly less angry shade of purple, but they're still there, all down your body. Once, I saw you in your bedroom, pulling up your shirt and prodding at the cuts, tracing the scars from the operation, one to the right side of your chest, the other directly over your heart. I only realised you'd been crying when you came out and your eyes were red around the edges.

I hate this. I hate seeing you hurting and not being able to do anything about it. I hate that when you smile, it doesn't touch your eyes, and when you give me that look like you really wanna hug me but then stop yourself 'cause you know it'll hurt.

We've cancelled a load of shows because you don't want anyone else to see you. They know there was an accident, they know you got hurt, but they don't know the extent of it, and I don't think you can face showing yourself just yet. You say they've already got enough reasons to make fun of you, and you don't wanna give them any more. Because you don't realise that some of them might actually care about you.

They do, though. I've got so many messages from fans asking how you're doing, if you're alright, and that it's okay if you don't play shows 'cause the only thing that matters is that you're getting better. But when I read them to you, I think you think I'm making them up.

Please, baby, you're getting there, you're getting better, you'll be back to normal soon. Your ribs will be all healed up in a few weeks, and the bruises will fade, and so will the sadness. And I'll get my Patrick back.

For now, though, I'm here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'll be here. I'll kiss all the cuts better, I'll drain the hurt away and fill you with hot chocolate instead.

I love you. Please remember that.

Pete.  


	36. Chapter 36

 

Dear Patrick,

Baby, please talk to me. I'm so confused, just tell me what I did wrong and I'll make it better, I promise.

I'm sitting outside your bedroom door, trying to hear what you're doing, and hoping to god you're not in there crying. But then again, the dead silence is pretty bad, too.

I don't know whether to go in or not. There's no lock on your bedroom door, I could just go ahead and open it. But the way you slammed the it behind you said that maybe you wanted to be alone.

Please just come out and talk. Whatever it is, we can work through it, I just hate not knowing what you're feeling. You keep hiding yourself away, and I can't stand it 'cause I said I'd be there for you but I'm not because you don't seem to want me around any more.

What is it, Patrick? Is it me? Is this all just some huge misunderstanding? I figured I'd just write all my questions down here seeing as you won't let me talk to you. But you can tell me anything, you know that, don't you?

I'm just trying to piece everything together. Stuff's happened over the past few months, maybe it'll lead me to what's wrong. One particular set of events springs to mind.

-

Okay, so the first time it happened, I guess, was after you'd been discharged from the hospital. Two months we'd been going back there, and they'd do x-rays and stuff to make sure your ribs were alright. They healed pretty fast, considering you'd had a crazy amount of fractures, and I could tell you were getting better 'cause you started hugging me way more.

All those bruises that'd plagued you, the cuts that'd stopped you going out the house for weeks, they'd all gone. I'd watched you heal, seen your skin gradually turn back to its usual perfect porcelain, it was amazing, like watching a flower growing.

Your smiles got wider, your eyes got their little sparkle back, and soon, I didn't have to only kiss you on one side of your face, I didn't have to tilt my head a certain way when our lips met, and I could scoop you into my arms whenever I wanted without hurting you. It was like everything was back to normal again.

But it wasn't, not quite.

When I drove you back from the hospital for the last time, I parked the car outside your flat, and we talked for a while.

"...I can't believe you've forgiven him, though. Like, if it was me, I'd hold it against him for as long as I could, like _hey Joe, you know how you nearly killed me and broke all my ribs? Yeah, well go buy me a cookie."_

You laughed. "It wasn't his fault. Besides, blaming him wouldn't've made anything easier for anybody, so why bother?"

"You're too nice for your own good, you know that, right?"

"No, no, I've got everything stored away in my blackmail folder, so if needs be, I can just guilt anyone into doing anything. The niceness is all a cover-up, I swear." You grinned, giggling.

"Well, you're healed up now, I guess, so he doesn't have to apologise every time he sees you."

"Yeah, I wish he'd stop doing that, it makes me feel like I'm dying or something."

But I bounced up and down in my seat anyway. "You're all better, though, and I can tickle you as much as I want!"

"Don't you dare," you warned, raising a now un-bruised eyebrow.

But I just laughed and lunged across the car, digging my fingers into your armpits as you squirmed around, giggling. Clambering rather ungracefully over the handbrake, I carried on tickling you, on your neck and all the way up and down your sides and around your tummy.

By this point, I was straddling you on the passenger seat, and, like, I don't really know what came over me. Well, I do. Lust.

The orange sunlight danced in your eyes glinted in your smile, and you just looked so fucking beautiful, and now that half your face wasn't fucked up, you were so perfect. I'd love to be romantic and say it was just looking at your face that earned me a, uh, _problem_ in the jean department, but you were squirming around underneath me and your shirt was kinda riding up and I could see this little strip of your hips and fucking hell I wanted you so bad.

It's weird, when I got like that, literally everything was a turn-on. The way your panting chest strained against your shirt, the way your head was tilted backwards and your Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as you laughed, hell, even your nose-hairs looked sexy.

I stopped tickling you, and as your laughter died down, I just sorta stared for a while, thinking about what to do next.

Obviously, the part of my brain that was responsible for the bulge in my pants was screaming at me to just go ahead and rip all your clothes off, and admittedly, at that moment there was nothing I'd like to do more than fuck you in the passenger seat of my car.

However, it was nothing my self-control couldn't handle. I wasn't crazy obsessive alcoholic Pete any more, I'd left that behind.

So, I decided to take it one step at a time. Placing my hands either side of your neck, I pushed my lips against yours, pressing you into the seat and tangling our tongues together. You made these little gaspy noises as we kissed, making me sink further into you, and holy hell you're so fucking hot.

Not being able to resist it any longer, I rolled my hips, grinding our crotches together and letting out a whine, because it felt so good and so fucking frustrating at the same time. You wrapped your arms around my neck and tried to pull me closer, but it didn't really work because we were already as close as our lips would allow, your breaths deep and slow, rolling like the tide.

I felt your hips shift underneath me, and smiled internally 'cause I could feel the bulge in your pants. Taking a hand from your neck, I undid the button on your jeans with one smooth movement and pulled at the zipper, before shoving my hand inside and rubbing it against you, giving you the friction you were begging for. You tilted your head back further and elicited a moan from the back of your throat, long and low, and I swear it was the most beautiful noise I'd ever heard.

The heat built up between us, and suddenly the chilly autumn evening didn't seem so chilly. Clothes were now just another obstacle, and I wanted them off me right now. I wondered if I could get my t-shirt off without disconnecting our lips, because I really didn't wanna leave them, but after a last, long, deep kiss, I pulled away, whipping my shirt over my head and trying not to get the collar caught on my nose.

I didn't even look to see where my shirt landed as I hurled it across the car, I didn't wanna miss a single second of this. I dived back to your lips, feeling your fingers roam up and down my chest, your nails digging into my skin as I bucked my hips again and tried to undo my own pants.

I managed to wriggle my jeans down to my knees, kinda wishing there was more space in this car, 'cause my feet kept kicking against the dashboard and I think I nearly broke the radio a couple times, but it didn't matter because it meant we had to stay pressed up against one another, which was fine by me. I started to grind on you with a slow rhythm, craving any kind of contact, kissing at your jaw and your neck and biting little marks into your skin. With each graze of my teeth, your breath caught in your throat, your eyes squeezed shut.

The feel of your fingers on my bare hips almost sent me over the edge. You sneaked a hand into my boxers and sent shivers running up and down my spine, my head spinning but my lips completely focussed on the perfect outline of your collar bone, sweeping from the base of your neck and along your shoulders before disappearing under your shirt, like it was teasing me. Only then did it occur to me that I was twice as naked as you were, and I wanted to put that right immediately. I looked at your shirt as if it had done something to piss me off, and trailed my hands up your body towards your collar, without taking my mouth from your neck.

Fumbling about with the top button, and cursing your need to dress smart the whole time, I managed to undo it, gaining a couple of inches of flawless skin as a reward. I was so enthralled by you, by the movement of our hips and the heat that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, that I hardly noticed you tense up underneath me.

I went for the second button, my lips busy painting you purple, and you took your hand out of my boxers, leaving me aching for more, so I thrust my hips forward, not realising that you'd stopped moving in time with me.

It was only when I felt your fingers round my wrists, pulling my hands off yourself and shrugging my head from your shoulder, that I finally twigged. I pulled back quickly and paused, my breaths laboured and my eyes dark with desire, before smashing my lips back into yours, stealing words in between kisses.

"Is something wrong?"

My question was answered when you stopped kissing back.

I pulled away properly this time, looking at your eyes rather than just your mouth, and felt my stomach tighten when I saw the look on your face. You were _scared._ Why were you scared? I still don't know the answer to that question.

"Patrick, are you okay?"

You paused for a few seconds, chewing on your swollen lips like you always do when you're nervous. Then, you pushed me away, shooting a hand round me and opening the car door.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, still out of breath, before scrambling out from under me and out of the car.

I watched you hurry away, fumbling with your shirt and your jeans and trying to fix your messed up hair. I was left in the passenger seat, more than half naked, confused and aroused and hurt all at the same time.

Why the fuck would you do that, Patrick? Why would you leave me? I thought you were enjoying it, hell, I could _feel_ you were enjoying it, how could you just push me away?

So instead of being part of the hot couple who were so passionate and spontaneous that they couldn't even wait 'till they were indoors before jumping on each other, I was the sad, lonely creep getting himself off in the parking lot behind some crappy-looking apartment buildings. Brilliant.

-

I tried calling you later that evening, to ask what happened and whether you were alright, but you just dodged my questions with apologies and random ramblings.

So it was obviously something you didn't want to talk about. Or didn't want to talk to me about, anyway. I tried to explain it away to myself, tell myself that it was probably just 'cause you didn't feel like it, or weren't in the mood. But that lie was even less believable than the ones you were spouting.

You acted perfectly normal, though, in the weeks after that. I didn't try anything else, 'cause being rejected was not a nice feeling, and I didn't want to experience it again any time soon. I still kept wondering why, though. Was it me? Were you worried about sex? Were you late for something, did you need the toilet urgently, did you not want to ruin my upholstery? The worst part was, there was this little sly voice in the back of my mind whispering _maybe he's cheating._

No. You can't be. I stand by that thought, 'cause I can't bear to doubt you. If I doubt you, I'll have lost the one thing I know I can rely on. You wouldn't do that to me, you wouldn't. Please, please don't do that to me.

Anyway, so I steered clear of any talk of that incident for a while. But, like, the problem was, and still is, that I am very very attracted to you, and sometimes my body likes to express that attraction in inconvenient and embarrassing ways. It's getting ridiculous, sometimes I'll just be watching you, when you're curled up in the corner making music, or brewing yourself some hot chocolate, or just generally wandering about, and my mind will go to bad places and before I know it, I have to run to the bathroom.

Then, there was this other time, on tour, when I thought we might go all the way.

You'd been doing your usual, turning me on without even trying, which would have been a lot easier to deal with if we weren't on stage in front of thousands of people at the time. I can't seem to help it, you're just _there,_ being all sexy and singy and I could see the sweat on your cheeks and your neck and holy fuck it was hot.

So I did my usual and sidled over to you, putting my head on your shoulder and nuzzling your face. But then, I decided to take it a step further, and pressed my lips to your jaw, trailing sloppy kisses along it, feeling the vibrations of your voice through your skin.

"Wait till I get you backstage," I whispered into your ear, biting down on your earlobe. The note you were holding wavered, and you coughed slightly between words. I grinned, forgetting the crowd and the music and everything, and grabbed your ass, something I wouldn't normally do, but felt suddenly compelled to.

You let out what can only be described as a squawk, and elbowed me in the chest, missing most of the pre-chorus. I leapt back to my side of the stage, watching guiltily as you tried to pick the song back up, fumbling with words and strings. Even from all the way over there, I could see your face flush red. And then, against all the odds, you looked right at me and gave me the smallest little smile.

So that pretty much drove me crazy for the rest of the show. You'd smiled, surely that meant you wanted me to fuck your brains out in the dressing room later on? That look in your eyes couldn't have meant much else. I've seen that look before, cast at me from guys at bar stools or across dance floors. It said _we're gonna have sex later, and it's gonna be amazing._ I began to wish we could play all the songs at double speed just so the end would come quicker. I'm surprised I even made it to the last song, I was nearly passing out from excitement.

When it was finally over, _curse the fucking encore,_ you flashed me that look again, whilst you gave your guitar to one of the stage hands, and pranced off to the dressing rooms. I stared after you for a second, watching as you took your hat off and ran your fingers through your sweat-soaked hair, before realising that my legs could in fact move. I bounced after you, running through the corridors and getting some strange looks from the people buzzing around. I saw you open the dressing room door, and before you went in, you peeked out at me from under your eyelashes, a shy smile playing on your lips.

I pretty much jumped on you as soon as I got inside the room. Grabbing both your hands, I pressed my body against yours, pushing you up against the wall and smashing our mouths together. It was amazing, we were feasting on each other, mixing sweat and saliva, which seems disgusting now, but at the time, it was the hottest thing on the planet.

Unknotting our fingers, I swept your hat off your head and tangled my hands in your hair, pulling as hard as I dared. It must've worked, though, 'cause you moaned into my mouth slid your hands under my shirt, making me shiver and kiss you harder. Our belts couldn't come off fast enough.

And I thought it would be different to the last time. I thought this would be it, 'cause we were so caught up in each other that the outcome should've been inevitable. But it was exactly the same as last time.

I ran my hands up and down your body, clawing at your t-shirt hungrily, kissing you with so much force I probably nearly choked you with my tongue, and pulled back briefly so I could find a nice spot on your neck to leave my mark on, when you went all still again. I could see your face this time, and it was like you'd just remembered something. The deflated realisation spread through your eyes, you let go of me. And yet again, you pushed me away.

"Patrick?" I breathed, watching as you stooped down to get your belt and your hat and made for the door. "Patrick, what's the matter? What's wrong? Wh-"

"I need a shower." You said quickly, and hurried out the door.

 _What the fuck? What in God's name was that about?_ I stared after you, feeling a weird combination of really fucking horny and really fucking annoyed. You left me, again. You'd given me the look and everything, everything about your demeanour had said _hello, I want you to fuck me,_ you'd kissed back and you'd pulled me closer and you'd run your hands over my skin. And then you'd changed your mind, just like that. And you wouldn't even fucking tell me why.

I guess that was just the problem; don't get me wrong, I was a bit pissed that you'd left me high and dry, quite literally, but if you'd have given me an actual reason, then I'd have backed off, and we could talk it over. But you never seem to want to talk it over.

Rather than just keep this all cooped up in my head, I decided I needed a second opinion. Admittedly, there were probably better and less biased people I could've asked, but at that time, Joe was the only one around. He was outside the venue, smoking, which usually meant I didn't go near him, but I decided to brave it this time.

"Uh...Pete?" he'd asked, when I sidled up to him awkwardly and sat down on the bench beside him. "Are you okay?"

I sighed. I didn't really know the answer to that, so I just shrugged.

"You want me to put this out?" He gestured to the cigarette between his fingers.

"Uh...yeah, if you wouldn't mind." The smell of smoke was so inviting, I nearly forgot why I was even there. _Careful, Pete, careful._

He threw the beautiful thing on the ground and stomped on it. Such a waste.

"So, um...how are you?" He said clumsily, looking as if the last thing in the world he wanted to do was be my therapist. I don't blame him.

"It's...it's Patrick." I sighed.

He suddenly looked a lot more alert. "What about him?" he said, as gently as he could, but his eyes narrowed and I could see the old defensive Joe flaring up.

I tried to put together a sentence which would make this the least awkward, but gave up and just straight out said it. "It's about the sex."

"Nope, nope, not having this conversation with you." He stood up and made disgusted noises.

"Look, I just-"

"No, I'm not giving you tips on how best to fuck my best friend. The image of you two at it like rabbits is not one I'd like to have in my head, okay?" He started to march off.

"No, that's the point, we're not!" I called after him.

He stopped. Ha, I always knew Joe was a sucker for gossip. Turning around, he looked at me suspiciously. "What do you mean, _you're not_?"

I huffed. "We're not having sex. I've never had sex with him."

He came and sat down next to me again, looking intrigued yet kinda reluctant, as if he knew he shouldn't wanna talk about this, but really wanted to at the same time. "Never?"

I shook my head. "Never."

"But...why?" he said incredulously. "I had visions of you two doing it at every possible opportunity."

"Yeah, well, visions are all I've had."

He screwed up his face and swatted my arm. "I can't believe I'm talking about this."

I carried on, though. "Well, we've gone pretty far, I guess, lots of making out and some groping and some blowj -"

"Stop talking now please."

"- but we've never actually, y'know, _done it._ He keeps pushing me away."

"Pushing you away? What, like, literally?"

"Yeah. Like, we'll both be really into it, and then he'll just stop, and run off, won't even tell me why."

His eyes narrowed. "If you're forcing yourself on him, I'll skin you alive." He looked serious, too.

"No, no, I'm not, I wouldn't do anything if I thought he didn't want to too. He's enjoying it as much as I am, but then he'll just leave."

"Maybe he's playing hard to get." Joe shrugged.

"Why would he do that? I've been in love with him for nearly seven years, I know how hard to get he is."

He nodded thoughtfully. "But, what I don't understand is, you two are like a proper couple, you're like properly besotted with each other, how could you _not_ be having sex? Couples like you are usually all over each other, like, the type that fuck in public places without even caring."

I raised my eyebrows. I didn't know Joe saw us as one of _those_ couples. It was kinda, cool, actually.

"Maybe he's one of those _no sex before marriage_ people."

I laughed. "He's not a virgin."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am very, very sure."

"I dunno, I mean, he's the type, isn't he? All goody two-shoes and stuff."

"Do you remember Emma?"

Joe screwed up his face, trying to think back. I decided to help him out.

"Curly hair, brown eyes? Looked kinda like a mouse?"

He shook his head.

"Massive boobs?"

"Oh, her? Yeah, I remember her. How Patrick managed to get her, I'll never kno- Oh, okay, yeah, no, he's definitely not a virgin." He laughed, then realised what he was saying and contorted his face in disgust.

"So then why wouldn't he wanna have sex with me? He fucked her plenty of times." I felt a shot of jealousy tear through me.

"I dunno. Has he had, uh...the...the _other_ type of sex before?" he said uncomfortably.

"Hmm, maybe not. But, like, it's the same thing, really, just, y'know, a different hole."

Joe made a horrified noise. "Dude! Ew!"

I shrugged. "Well it is!"

"No, look, you know what, I can't do this any more. I'm gonna go find someone who's not gonna talk to me about gay sex." He stood up again, and this time, I let him go.

I sat there, in the autumn chill, watching my breath make little clouds of air, gone in the blink of an eye. Joe's footsteps got quieter and quieter, and I was left alone, again.

Then they started to get louder.

"Hey, Pete," he called, his figure becoming clearer as he jogged back towards me.

"Joe? What's happened?"

"Hey," he sat down next to me again, but turned to face me. The look in his eyes was deadly serious. "Uh...Pete...do you think maybe...maybe the reason he doesn't wanna go all the way is because of...y'know, what happened before?"

I gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean, _what happened before_?"

He bit his lip. "Well...what you did to him."

I ran my thoughts back through everything that Joe could be referring to. Then I realised. _I'd tried to rape you._

Shit.

Of course. Of course that's why.

"Oh god. Oh my god." I covered my mouth with my hands. Tears sprung to my eyes.

I heard Joe breathe out slowly, and tried my damnedest not to cry in front of him.

"I'm so stupid. I'm so fucking stupid." My voice shook, and I put my head in my hands so he wouldn't see the tears falling. How the hell had I not realised that? I'd been ready to accuse you of cheating. This is all my fault.

Then, I felt Joe put an arm gently round my shoulders. "Just talk it over with him, okay?"

I nodded. _I'll talk to you, tell you how sorry I am. Hope you'll forgive me._ I'm sorry you're always the one that's gotta be forgiving.

"You must think I'm disgusting." I whimpered into Joe's shoulder.

He didn't say anything.

-

I didn't talk it over with you, though. Not right then. I couldn't bring myself to do it, couldn't bear to remind myself of how I used to be. So I kept putting it off. I tried to make it up to you indirectly, giving you lots of hugs making sure I told you how beautiful you are every single day.

But, even after tour, it was always kinda just _there._ I knew we needed to talk, and I think so did you, but you never said anything, so neither did I. I just went home to my empty house. And, to top it all off, my plant was all wilted and shrivelled. It used to be big and green and there it was, just kinda brown-looking. I gave it a load of water, and now it's looking a bit better, there are some new leaves growing on it, so I figured if I just keep making sure it has enough water then it should be fine. Anyway, enough about my horticultural hobbies.

I hated that there was this barrier between us. You don't seem to realise what you do to me when we kiss, it's like Doritos, I can't just have one then leave it. I always want more. Especially because you're definitely hot chilli flavour, and those ones are my favourite.

So, I decided that I had to talk to you about this.

-

I finally plucked up the courage today, on the very last day of the year.

We'd been to your family's place for Christmas, which was amazing, as promised, and I think, well, I hope I managed to make it up to your parents. They were more smiley and huggy than they'd been at your birthday, and your mum seemed to be fine. Your dad was a bit more frosty, so I steered clear of him. But it wasn't quite like the last time. There wasn't that same feeling of welcome, more just reluctant acceptance.

Anyway, we'd decided to go home for new year. Some places had invited us to some parties, but we'd agreed to just have a quiet one, 'cause new year parties are a big no no when it comes to drinks, and I wasn't sure if I was quite ready for that. The only drinks we had were hot chocolate, and they were fucking good as well.

It was early evening, and we were both cuddled up on the couch, just kinda thinking about stuff, I guess. You were curled in my arms, with your head on my chest, and I could feel you breathing, it was so peaceful I nearly fell asleep. I didn't though, 'cause I knew tonight was when I'd have to talk to you. I figured if I didn't do it this year, I'd never do it. 

I tried to plan what to say, and predict what you were gonna say, but it was pointless. As it turned out, I was not at all prepared for this conversation.  

Finally, after a lot of mental countdowns, I spoke.

"Hey, Patrick, can we talk?"

You lifted your head to look up at me, eyes half-lidded, and nodded slowly, sitting up a bit more so you could see me better. "What's up?"

"Uh...well..." I swallowed hard, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

You gave me a puzzled look. "What for?"

"For...uh...for..." I trailed off, trying to find a better way to express this. "Look, I know why you don't wanna have sex with me."

I don't know how I thought you'd react, but it wasn't like this.

You sat straight up and looked straight at me, anxiety filling your face, before shooting down to the other end of the couch and bringing your knees up to your chest.

"Wha- how?" You squeaked. I just sort of sat there, bewildered, but tried to stay calm all the same. This wasn't how I thought you'd react.

"Well, I guess I kinda just worked it out. Joe helped, though."

"Joe knows too?"

"Yeah, he was the one that suggested it in the first place. And I just wanna say that I'm sorry, and now I completely get it."

You looked uncertain. "You- You do?"

"Yeah, Patrick, of course I do. If it was me, I'd find it really fucking horrible."

"So...it bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me! I hate it, baby, I really fucking hate it!" I said frustratedly, more at myself that you.

You just sat there, staring at me with wide eyes. I wonder if you were scared of me then. It kills me to think you were.

"Look, I'm sorry I ever even tried to be, uh, intimate with you. It's just...disgusting, I guess. Joe thinks so too." I found everything about my past self disgusting.

"D-disgusting?" You whispered. And I swear to god there were tears in your eyes. Why the hell were you the one crying?

"Yeah, I just can't believe I..." I couldn't bear to think about it, think about you, so I just gazed down into my lap and felt the guilt consuming me. "I can't even look at you." I laughed bitterly.

"Wh-what?" You breathed, your voice shaking. That's about when I started to realise something wasn't quite right.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." I said, reaching a hand out towards you gently.

You looked at me like I'd just pointed a gun in your face.

I felt my chest tighten. "Baby, don't cry, please."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your bottom lip wobbled, and you bit down on it hard, shutting your eyes and putting your forehead to your knees. Then, you let out a hoarse whisper. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" I asked, becoming more and more confused and worried with every passing second.

The look in your eyes was nothing but frustrated sadness, like the look Atlas would give someone if they told him he was carrying quite a heavy load.

I shuffled down the sofa a bit, holding my arms out to try and hug you. You stared at me. Then you shook your head, and before I could react, you shot from the sofa and ran out of the room. I heard your bedroom door slam shut.

I sat in blank silence for what felt like years, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Why had you been the one to get upset? I thought I was gonna cry as soon as I said that first sentence. And you looked so fucking scared. I feel sick when I think about that.

After a while, I decided I couldn't just sit there any longer. I went to your bedroom door, not daring to open it, but knocking instead.

"Patrick? Patrick, please, talk to me." I called, stroking the door as if it would relay the message to you.

I was answered with cold silence.

So here I am.

I'm trying to figure out why you got so upset. Was it the mere thought of what I did? Did I hurt you that bad? I can feel the self-hatred flaring up again.

I don't understand, I thought I was better, but here I am, still causing you pain. And you won't talk to me. Why won't you talk to me? I need you, I need you to come out here and tell me what's going on, what you're thinking, what I'm doing wrong. I'll follow your every word, even if what's wrong is that I'm still breathing.

I can't stand this. I've gotta go in. I've gotta stop writing this stupid fucking letter, and go sort out this mess.

I'm gonna help. I've gotta help, or I'll go insane.

I'm gonna go in.

From Pete.  


	37. Chapter 37

Dear Patrick,

If I remember rightly, the last time I wrote one of these, I was sitting outside your bedroom door.

I don't think I'll ever forget that New Year's Eve.

-

It took me ages to pluck up the courage to open that door. I really wanted to know whether you were okay, what am I talking about, of course you weren't, but at the same time, I was terrified of what might happen. I had no idea what kind of state you were gonna be in, maybe you'd be angry, or scared, maybe you wouldn't talk at all.

I knew I had to apologise, though. It was all my fault, I still hated myself for thinking that you'd want to have sex with me after what I did to you. I shouldn't have brought it up, I should have known it would upset you. _Why am I always so fucking stupid?_

Because at that point, I didn't realise I had completely the wrong end of the stick.

Taking a deep breath, I twisted the door handle.

"Patrick?" I said quietly, creeping into your bedroom.

It was almost completely dark. The pale moonlight shone through the window, casting a ghostly glow over everything.

I peered around blindly, looking for any sign of you. "Patrick?" I said again, beginning to get a bit worried.

From the corner of the room, I heard the tiniest little sniff. It came from behind me.

I whipped round, ready to punch whatever psychopath had crept in to murder both of us. But there was no-one there.

I breathed out, but still kept my eyes on the open door and the hallway beyond. Then I heard that sniff again.

It was only when I swung the door shut that I saw the hunched up boy in the corner. He had his knees pulled up to his chest and his face hidden in them, his body curled between the door and wall. I swear I felt my heart break a little.

"Patrick."

You didn't move. You didn't even look up at me. "Leave me alone." You whispered.

"Please talk to me."

No answer.

I crept towards you, shutting the door fully and plunging the room back into blackness. All I could make out of you was the silver silhouette the moon had outlined you with, as if it wanted me to see you. Quietly, I sunk to the floor beside you, resisting the urge to touch you.

"I'm so sorry." I said, my voice cracking a little.

"Go away."

I told myself you didn't mean that, and decided to just say everything I should've said a long time ago. "No, let me apologise. I should never have assumed you'd want to...y'know. I just...I hate myself for what I did. I'll never, ever be able to forgive myself. But...I'm not that person any more, I promise you that. I will never hurt you again. Never."

"What?" I heard you say quietly. I looked up, and saw that you'd lifted your head, the light dancing on your features. Feeling relief that you'd finally showed your face, I gazed into your moonlit eyes and made sure you knew exactly how serious I was about this.

"I'm so sorry for what I did. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Regret what?" Confusion swept through your hoarse voice, and my brain.

 _Wait, what? Surely you knew, surely that was the reason you'd run off, the reason you were curled up in the corner?_ "Uh...nearly...nearly...well, what I did that time after the tour meeting? Isn't that why you're upset?"

"What? No!" You said, shock lifting your tone.

"But...that's what we were just talking about, on the couch? I thought that was the reason you didn't wanna, like, have sex and stuff?" By this point, I was completely bewildered. How could that _not_ be the reason? I'd spent so long thinking over why you hadn't wanted to, and this had to be it.

"No. No, it's not." You sighed, putting your head back to your knees. "So...you don't know the real reason?"

"Evidently not."

"Oh."

I waited for a few seconds, watching you chew on your bottom lip. I think I was expecting you to tell me, but of course it wasn't going to be that easy. "So what is it?" I said, gently as I could. To be honest, I was really fucking relieved I'd been wrong.

You stayed silent.

"Patrick?"

You brought your knees tighter to your chest and hid your face again.

"Please, baby, please tell me."

After a little while, you mumbled into your jeans. "Isn't it obvious?"

I nearly laughed. I'd spent so long thinking about what this coveted reason could be, I knew how completely un-obvious it was. "No."

I waited for you to speak, but you didn't. You just sat there in the moonlight, your skin even paler than usual, tinged with blue.

"Is it me?" I asked cautiously, wondering what else I could have done wrong.

You answered almost immediately. "No."

The word was so strong and so certain, I completely believed you, feeling relief rush through me. _Okay, it's fine, it's not me._ I'd been so scared that I'd done something to hurt you, I didn't even consider that maybe something else was hurting you. "Then what is it? Maybe I can help?"

"You can't help."

"Try me." I said determinedly, crossing my arms.

You sighed. Raising your head, you pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying to think of the right words. "I...don't want you to...to _see."_

I furrowed my eyebrows. "See what?"

"See... _me."_ You gestured to yourself, then buried your head again.

"Why?"

" _Isn't it obvious?!"_ You repeated, frustration seeping through your quiet voice.

"No." I said right back, trying to get my head around all this. "Why wouldn't you want me to see you? Wha – Oh..." I thought I'd struck gold, and lowered my voice to a gentle whisper. "Is it...the scars? Because you can't even see them any more, you're all healed now, and -"

"No, it's not the fucking scars!" You yelped, your grip on your knees tightening.

"Then what?!" I exclaimed, confusion overwhelming me. "What could possibly be so wrong with you that you wouldn't want me to see you?"

"I'm fucking fat, that's what!"

I blinked at you.

Your cracked words hung in the air between us. Whatever comeback I'd planned dissolved in my throat. You threw your arms over your face and shuffled further into the corner.

The seconds ticked past, and in my search for words, I only found one that truly reflected what I was feeling.

"So?" I whispered.

You raised your head slowly. Now it was your turn to look bewildered.

"You think it makes you less beautiful?"

"Well...obviously." You said slowly, a strange look on your face.

"Why?" I asked, shuffling a little closer to you.

You stared at me in shock, and breathed an incredulous laugh. "Because...because I'm disgusting."

 _Oh. Disgusting. Now it makes sense._ I remembered my own words to you on the couch, _it's just...disgusting, I guess._ You thought I'd meant that _you're_ disgusting. "So...so when we were talking earlier, you thought I was talking about you?"

You nodded.

Everything seemed to fall into place when I remembered the conversation. _So...it bothers you?_ You'd said, thinking I was talking about your weight. I felt my stomach drop when I realised what I'd replied. _Of course it bothers me! I hate it, baby, I really fucking hate it!_

No wonder you'd got upset. _God, this whole situation is so stupid._

I rubbed your shoulder gently, "I would never think things like that about you. You're perfect."

"Fuck off."

But I was quite adamant about that fact. "No, seriously, you are. And I won't have you thinking things like this, you're the opposite of disgusting. You thought I wouldn't wanna have sex with you just 'cause you have slightly more adipocytes on your body than the average Calvin Klein model? Bullshit."

You huffed at me. " _Adipocytes?"_

"Hell yeah, I know biology." I said, not bothering to hide the pride in my voice.

I saw the corner of your mouth twitch. "Was that a smile?" I grinned, shuffling closer so that our shoulders were touching, and wrapping an arm around you.

"No." You scowled, looking away from me.

I was gonna grab you and tickle you or something stupid to make you smile more, but the moonlight caught the tears in your eyes, and I felt my chest tighten.

Gently squeezing your shoulders, I tried to get you to look at me, wanting so badly to kiss you all over.

"How – how long have you been feeling like this?" I asked softly.

You shrugged. "I dunno. A while."

"Before we got together?"

"Uh...I guess so. But...recently I just..." you trailed off, sighing.

I traced slow circles on your arm in a silent attempt to reassure you.

"I'm just not...good enough." Your voice cracked, and you buried your face again.

I was taken aback. "Who – who aren't you good enough for?"

"Everyone. The band...the fans...my friends, my family." You whispered, pausing for a second to peek out at me. "You."

"What the fuck do you mean? Of course you're good enough, Patrick. Why the hell wouldn't you be good enough for me?" I said, trying to keep from giving you a shake and yelling in your face 'till you believed how beautiful you are.

"Well...'cause you're, like, hot and stuff." You said quietly, waving a hand towards me.

I snorted with laughter, but you kept going.

"Everyone knows you're completely out of my league. Why the hell would someone like you be attracted to someone like me?"

I rolled my eyes at you. "Look, Patrick, I've been in love with you ever since I met you. And I spent a long time thinking that someone as kind and sweet as you would never ever go for a messed up guy like me. But you did. And you've made me so fucking happy. I'd be dead without you. And don't you ever think you're not attractive, 'cause I'm looking at you now and you're the most fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen." I wasn't exaggerating, either.

You gave a weak smile, but there were still tears threatening to spill, and I could see in your eyes that you didn't believe me.

"For example," I continued, determined to rest my case, "your nose. That's pretty beautiful." I tapped it lightly with my finger, and you nearly giggled. "Your ears are, too. I usually find ears pretty creepy, but yours are so cute it's unreal." You raised your eyebrows a little, a smile touching your features. "And the way your eyes light up when I call your ears cute. Your eyes in general, really. 'Cause, like, sometimes they're really really blue, and other times they're kinda greeny, but then you have this little ring of gold in the middle so they sometimes they look golden, which is really fucking cool. And I love that you blink, like, a billion times a second."

You smiled slightly, so I carried on.

"And don't even get me started on your lips. I just wanna-" I paused for a second, unable to tear my gaze from your mouth, then leaned in and kissed you softly. "- all the time." I finished. "And then there's everything else. Your fingers, your toes, your cute little tummy." I tickled said tummy and you squirmed, batting my hands away yet giggling all the same.

You shuffled a little bit closer to me, and I wrapped both my arms around your bundled body and held you tight, whispering gently in your ear.

"And your soul. That's the most beautiful thing of all."

You smiled then, wide and sparkling and real. "Thank you."

I laughed a little. "I'm only telling the truth."

"I love you."

"I love you too." I grinned, and brought your lips to mine.

It started off gentle, my hands cupping your face and stroking your skin, but I felt my heart jump when it seemed you had other plans. You ran your fingers through my hair and deepened the kiss, sitting up slightly so we could be closer, clutching the back of my head and placing a hand on my chest.

After a few moments, you pulled back, slightly out of breath, our noses still touching. You looked me straight in the eyes through the darkness.

"I wanna do it." You breathed, kissing me again quickly.

I pushed you back a bit and stared at you, a look of determination on your face. "Are – are you sure?"

You nodded profusely, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"You don't have to just 'cause of what I said, I wasn't trying to pressure you -"

"No, I want you to fuck me now please."

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, excitement buzzing through me. "O-okay."

You smiled, but your confidence faltered a little, and past the determination in your eyes, there was nervousness.

"We honestly don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, no, I do want to, I just...I've never done it like this before. Is that okay?"

I kissed you again before responding. "Yeah, baby, that's okay. Don't be worried about that. I wanna make you feel amazing."

You smiled, a little hesitant. "Is...is it gonna hurt?"

"Uh...yeah, a little bit. But I promise it gets better."

You thought for a moment. "Okay. Okay, let's fucking do this. Or, let's do this fucking." You grinned, shoving your lips back to mine.

I held you tightly as we kissed, and started to get to my feet, bringing you with me. Once we were fully standing, you threw your arms round my neck, and without disconnecting our lips, I snaked my hands around the backs of your thighs and gently lifted you up. You made the cutest little noise of surprise, and wrapped your legs around my waist, clinging to me tightly as if I might drop you.

But all that was going through my mind as I drifted over to the bed was _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ because I was finally gonna get to satisfy you in every way I could.

Setting you down on the covers, I kissed you slowly, steadying you as I lowered you onto your back. I toed my socks off as I climbed onto the bed with you, placing my hands either side of your body and unable to think of anything but what you'd look like with no clothes on.

With a flick of my arm, I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it across the room, and I think you knew what was coming next because your kisses weakened a little bit. I pulled back, and saw that familiar fear flit through your eyes.

"Remember, you're beautiful." I whispered, and you smiled. Sitting up, I started to undo the buttons of your shirt, giving you a reassuring glance. And this time, you didn't stop me. I slowly revealed more of your flawless skin, running my fingers across it gently, as if it might break at any moment, and finally opened your shirt fully, revealing the torso I'd tried to picture countless times.

I pressed my lips to your collarbone, and trailed them downwards, across your chest. I gently kissed the two pale pink scars, one over your ribs, the other across your heart, barely noticeable in the moonlight. Shuffling myself down the bed a bit, I kept kissing, over the swell of your belly and towards your hips, fumbling with your belt and eventually undoing it. You helped me get your jeans off, and mine too, and they were tossed in the general direction of wherever my shirt'd gone.

My lips brushed your inner thigh, and I felt you tense, your breath catching slightly in your throat. Very, very gently, I pulled at the waistband of your boxers, letting you wriggle them down and off your legs.

I paused for a few seconds, my gaze sweeping over your bare form, and it was a fucking work of art. I'd waited so long for this, to see you naked, and now there you were, sprawled underneath me with not a scrap of clothing on you, totally mine. _Fucking hell._

I made sure to prep you as much as possible so it would hurt as little as possible, and you squirmed uncomfortably at the feel of my slick fingers in places they probably shouldn't be. To distract you, I planted gentle kisses on your hips, looking up at you to see your eyes shut tight and your chest taking deep breaths.

Not being able to wait any longer, I spread your legs wide, finally getting rid of my boxers and pushing in slowly, and holy fuck did that feel good. I rose back up so I could see your face better, pressing my lips back to yours and rolling my hips. You let out a little cry of pain, your hands gripping the sheets and your knuckles bleached white.

"I'm sorry," I said between kisses, "it'll get better, I swear."

Building up a steady rhythm, I sucked at your skin, the moonlight making the red marks look purple. You began to relax a little, breathing slowly and deeply in time with my thrusts. When I snaked my hand down towards your hips, I wrapped my fingers around you and started to pump up and down, and you let out this heavenly noise, and that combined with how fucking good you felt around me nearly sent me over the edge.

Pushing your legs apart more so I could get a better angle, I started to pick up speed, moaning into your mouth as I kissed you.

Then, I felt myself hit that special spot inside you.

"Holy shit!" You yelled, your eyes flying open and your breath quickening.

"You like that, baby?" I murmured into your ear, feeling my ecstasy getting closer with each thrust.

Your moan of pleasure gave me my answer. You ran your fingers up and down my back, kissing me harder and sighing breathlessly as I kindled your orgasm.

"Pete...Jesus fucking christ...that's amazing...right there...fuck..." You gushed, and if I hadn't been so off my face on the heat between us, I would've laughed. I didn't think you'd be so talkative.

It only spurred me on though, I could feel the sweat building on your skin, your hair starting to stick to your face, your neck arching and you mouth hanging open, and it was so hot and I realised how much better sex is when you're in love, I'd never felt anything like it, it just made everything better, every touch of your skin, every moan that spilled from your lips was filling my head and my hips and my heart.

With all my strength, I thrust into you, once, twice, three times, each time eliciting a high-pitched whine from you, and on the fourth time, your back arched and you let out a loud yell, your eyes rolling back into your head as pleasure shuddered through you. Your muscles tightened around me, and that was enough to get me yelling too, the high hitting me like a train, my head spinning.

My hips slowed to a stop, blissful exhaustion spreading through me. I kissed your lips again slowly, my eyes half-lidded, before pretty much just collapsing on top of you, sweat still shimmering on your skin and your limbs strewn about you. We both breathed heavily, and I could hear your fluttering heartbeat as I rested my head on your chest, wondering how I got to be so lucky.

"Holy shit," you said again, and I smiled against your skin.

-

After that, we just sorta dozed for ages, drunk on each other's company. Eventually, once the heat had faded, we realised it was kinda cold 'cause it was winter and we had no clothes on. We took the top blankety thing off the bed first, 'cause it covered in sweat and, um, other things, before snuggling under the duvet.

I wanted to make the most of your nakedness, so I held you close to me, placing a hand on your butt and just sorta cupping it, and wondering how a butt could feel so pretty. You didn't protest, wrapping your arms around me and pulling the covers up, resting your head on my shoulder.

I don't even know how long we drifted in and out of sleep for, all I know is that when I looked at the clock, it was seven minutes to midnight.

"Hey, Patrick," I said gently, shaking your shoulder. "It's nearly 2008."

Your eyes fluttered open, resting momentarily on the clock before meeting my own gaze. "I forgot about that."

"It's gotta go a long way to beat this year." I said, kissing you on the forehead to let you know that you were the reason this year was so good. "So much has changed." _Yeah, namely me._

"I think it ended better than it started." You murmured, and holy crap were you right. This time last year, I was still with Mikey, pretending not to be completely in love with you.

"Definitely. The last few hours were pretty good." I grinned.

"Yeah. Did – did I do okay?"

I cuddled you tighter. "You were absolutely fucking amazing."

"So...you're not put off?"

"No, I'm turned on." I smirked, giving your butt a squeeze just 'cause I could. Then, I dropped my smile and tilted your face up towards me. "Seriously, though. You're so beautiful, don't you ever doubt it. And you're fucking hot too, Jesus Christ."

You laughed, and your eyes lit up. I could actually see you properly now, since we'd had the ingenious idea of turning the lights on when we were done. Your skin was no longer pale and bluish, it was bathed in the soft golden glow of the lamp on your bedside table.

"Sorry for making you wait," you said softly.

"You were worth it." I whispered back, nuzzling your face with my nose 'cause I thought that was a cute thing to do.

"My butt hurts," you mumbled into the crook of my neck.

I laughed a little. "Yeah, sorry about that. Want me to kiss it better?"

"Nah, I'm okay, thanks. My butt has had quite enough action for one day."

"Would it be up for some more action at some point in the future?" I said hopefully.

"It wouldn't be completely opposed to it."

"Good." I grinned, then folded back the covers to reveal said butt. Leaning towards it, I cooed "I'm glad to hear it. See you again soon." I patted it lightly.

You deadpanned. "Did you just talk to my butt?"

"Yes."

"You're weird."

"I know."

You sighed and shook your head, but cuddled me all the same. I pulled the covers back up around us, and thought for a few moments.

"Do you have any New Year's resolutions?" I said suddenly.

You stirred. "Hmm...I dunno. I wanna make another record."

"Really? We only just made one."

"Yeah, but I wanna do another one. Like, a really really good one."

"Were our other ones that bad?"

"Nah, I just want something different, y'know? Something to make people go _ooh, this is interesting._ So you better get writing some killer lyrics."

I laughed. "Okay. I'll get on it."

"Do you have any resolutions?" You asked, looking up at me curiously.

"Yeah. To stay clean. Like, forever. And to keep my plant alive. Oh, and to get better at cooking."

"I know you'll stay clean. And you're already amazing at cooking."

"You only think that 'cause the most you can cook is a ready meal," I grinned.

"Hey!" You exclaimed, batting my arm. Then you sighed. "Yeah, true."

"One minute to go." I said, looking at the clock.

"Pete," you asked quickly, "can – would you mind promising me one thing?"

Concern flooded me, and I frowned at you. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Please – no more April Fools'."

Concern was replaced by guilt. "Never again. Never. I promise." I said, slow and meaningful. "I'm so sorry."

You smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, it's forgotten. One day though, I'll get you back," you smirked, "one April Fools', I'll get you so good, I swear. You better watch your back."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay, tiger, now I'm scared."

"You should be." You said, poking me on the nose. "Oh, hey, look!" You suddenly squeaked, "happy New Year!"

It was bang on midnight. Then I realised something. "Holy fuck, I've gotta kiss you!"

Your laughter was stifled as I took your face in my hands and dived at your mouth, taking your bottom lip between my own and sighing blissfully.

We kissed slowly for a while, before I felt fatigue tugging at my eyelids and knew that it was probably time for us to sleep properly.

Reaching out, I turned the light off, sinking down into the sheets, and taking you with me. You curled your hands firmly around my middle, and I kissed the top of your head.

"Goodnight, baby."

"Night night," you sighed sleepily.

"Happy New Year." I whispered.

We drifted into a peaceful slumber, wrapped in each other's arms.

-

That ended up being one of the best nights of my life.

I fucking love you.

I still can't quite believe I took your butt-virginity. I'd quite like a certificate for that, please. We have sex quite a lot now, it's amazing. You still ask me, like, after every time, though, whether I'm put off you or not, which is stupid 'cause nothing could ever put me off you. I wish I could make you believe that. I still see the anxiety on your face when I take your clothes off.

But you seem happier. The new year has given us lots to look forward to, and you're definitely sticking to your record resolution. Every so often, you'll appear in front of me with a guitar, and ask if this sounds alright, or what I think of that. Music has always been your escape. It only makes me wonder what you're escaping from.

We'll be just fine, though, you and me. Hopefully, I won't have to keep writing these letters for much longer, 'cause I won't have worries I need to work out, I'll just have you. And I won't be fussed about not remembering every detail of the good times, 'cause I know there'll be more just around the corner.

I can see you, across the room, lying on your front, your eyes trained on your laptop, whilst I'm furiously scribbling. It's fine, though, you think I'm writing lyrics, and you never disturb me when I'm doing that, just like I never disturb you when you've got your headphones on.

I'm wondering if maybe I should ask you to move in with me. I mean, we spend most of our time together anyway, so we may as well make it official. You could come to mine, 'cause it's bigger, but we could redecorate and make it really nice and get rid of all the bad memories.

Yeah, I'll do that. Then I'll ask you to marry me.

Love, Pete.  


	38. Chapter 38

 

Dear Patrick,

I don't know what to do.

You're getting worse.

I can see it written all over you. And I'm so scared, Patrick.

The moments we shared at New Year, they didn't last. About halfway through February, you started to act different. Or, not different, just...jumpy.

Nothing's changed, not really. You wouldn't know from the outside that anything was wrong. Andy and Joe don't know. We still kiss and cuddle, the sex is still amazing, but I just...it's as if everything has a slight falseness to it.

I haven't written one of these in a long while. For a couple months, I thought maybe I wouldn't have to. I even took Andy, and we went and looked round a few houses. There was this one, right on the edge of the city, with huge floor to ceiling windows at the back and a balcony where we could sit and watch the sunset together. It had this huge spiral staircase going through the middle, and, like, the whole thing was open-plan, with the lounge and the kitchen made into one big room. There was so much space too; I could picture us there, a beautiful grand piano in the corner that you could play, and there was this extension bit that could easily be made into our very own studio. I was really close to just buying it there and then, but I thought I should wait a little bit.

I'd planned to surprise you with it on your birthday, Andy thought that would be a good idea too. He's always thought we were good together, and I always trusted him on that. He's just a trustworthy guy, y'know? And I want to keep trusting him.

I got so close to buying that place. It didn't happen, though. During April, you started to talk to me less and less. And by talk, I mean like proper talking, two a.m. confessions about life and death and all that deep shit. We used to do that, stay up all night just talking about feelings and stuff. Now it's as if you don't want to feel anything at all. So I didn't get that house.

Instead, for your birthday, we just had dinner. It was nice, too, I think you liked it. But that's just the problem. I never know, any more, whether you actually like stuff, or if you're just pretending. I used to be able to tell when you were lying, tell when you were hurting. Now I can't. When you say you're okay, it's so genuine. And sometimes you are, sometimes there are good days when you act like you used to and we laugh like we did when we were best friends who loved each other's company. But sometimes, you'll say _I'm fine,_ then I'll hear you crying in the bathroom later on.

The record is your life at the moment. I mean, you've always worked hard on them, but this one is something else. You've poured your soul into every little detail, obsessing over everything. You once spent four hours in the studio just tweaking the distortion on the bass. I try to help, we all try. Joe'll keep saying _hey, don't worry about the guitars on this one, I'll take care of them._ But you'll just shout, then he'll get pissed off, then you'll shout some more. I hate seeing you like that. You used to take such joy in music, get so excited by it, but now it's killing you. You've gotta stop stressing, baby, please.

You hardly sleep, either. When I drift off with you in my arms, it's almost certain you won't be there when I wake up. You get up in the night and sit for hours on your laptop with your headphones, and I keep telling you it's not healthy but you just laugh and tell me to stop worrying about you. I am worried though. Oh god, I am.

I've tried to talk to you about all this. Just once, just one conversation, and maybe we could make some progress. But every time, you just shut me out.

-

"Patrick, can we talk?" I said, in one of my attempts to get you to open up to me. I don't even remember where we were, stuff like this has happened so often, we've had so many versions of this conversation, it could've been anywhere.

"Yeah, sure, what about?" You asked brightly.

I sighed. "Uh...I'm just...I...are you okay, Patrick?"

You looked at me as if you didn't know what I was talking about. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"Well, you seem kinda stressed."

You shrugged. "You know how it is. Records are stressful."

"I know but...Patrick, why were you crying last night?" I asked gently.

"What?" You said, laughing a bit. "I wasn't crying."

"Yes, you were, Patrick, I heard you, last night, on the sofa."

You made a face at me. "Nah, Pete that must have been a dream. Or maybe a burglar broke in and teared up when he saw the state of my lounge carpet," you laughed.

"No, but-"

"I mean, look at it, it used to be cream-coloured, and now it's kinda grey."

"Patrick-"

"Maybe I should replace it. Go for something a bit more jazzy."

"Please-"

"Purple! That's good. Purple's a good colour."

"Patrick!" I finally got you to shut up about the fucking carpet. "I know you were crying, I know what you sound like when you're upset. Besides, this morning, your eyes were puffy."

You laughed again, but there was an edge to your tone. "Who do you think you are, Sherlock fucking Holmes?"

Then you walked off.

-

That's what usually happens when I try to ask you.

I hate it when you're like that, because it seems like every word that comes out your mouth is a lie.

Then there's the other times. Sometimes, when you're crying, I go and comfort you, kiss you and cuddle you and tell you that whatever it is, it's gonna be okay. And you kiss me back. But, like, not in your usual don't-worry-about-me-I'm-fine way. It's the complete opposite. You kiss me with this wild urgency, like the urgency with which people gasp for air when they're drowning. In those moments, you're not acting, you're completely raw, clinging to me with all the strength you have. And it scares me a bit.

The worst thing is that I feel like I don't know you. Maybe you're not lying, maybe you are okay, and you just have some bad days. 

I need to know what's going on, though. I need you to tell me honestly, no more lies. I mean, maybe it is just the record. But, I still need you back. Just open up to me, just once, please.

As always, I love you.

From Pete.  


	39. Chapter 39

_[A/N: **Trigger warning: mentions of suicide.** I didn't mean for this thing to get so angsty, but hey, here we are.]_

 

Patrick.

You're not okay.

I underestimated this. I thought all of this would just fade away, and we could go back to normal. I was very, very wrong.

I didn't understand before. Now, I think I do. Not enough, though.

Fucking hell.

Okay. I gotta write this thing. I feel like writing is the only thing I know. I thought I knew you, but I don't. Fuck, Patrick.

Let me just...okay, I'm ready.

-

So we're on tour at the moment. We finished the record.

And those couple months after, they were amazing. Like, I thought maybe I'd imagined whatever was wrong with you before, because you were so damn happy. When we saw the finished thing, heard it for the first time, I think you nearly cried. You were like a proud parent watching his kid go off into the world with amazing things ahead, it made me smile so much. All that work, all that stress, it paid off, hell, it more than paid off. You got your perfection, and I got my Patrick.

You were over the moon about it, and you were so excited to play it. You made us rehearse so much, so that we got every single thing right. I thought you didn't care that some of the kids didn't sing along, I thought you were back to normal. 

I don't think you were, though. Not really. In fact, now I know you weren't.

You see, now I know a lot of things I didn't know before. You've been lying to me, Patrick.

I found out a couple weeks ago. It was unexpected, too, we were just winding down after an early show. It'd been ages since we'd all been able to sit down together and talk, so we decided to go get food at this little Mexican place on the outskirts of Charleston, just us four, like we used to. It was nice, too, the summer air was kinda romantic, and me and you held hands walking down the street, because at that point, I thought nothing of it, the way you gripped my arm and rested your head on my shoulder.

 

"...it would definitely be Brendon. Like, how could it be anyone else? For all we know, he might already have a bunch of 'em," Joe slurped through a mouthful of burrito.

"Come on, have you _seen_ Gabe? He's the most likely to own a gay strip joint, by far." Andy waved a hand at Joe, finishing off his carefully crafted vegan taco.

"Look," I intervened, "as a gay person, I think I have the deciding vote."

The other two thought for a moment, then shrugged and nodded.

"And, in my opinion," I paused for effect, "it's definitely Brendon. No fucking contest."

"Ha!" Joe woofed, spraying burrito everywhere. "I told you so!"

Andy just huffed and crossed his arms. "Come on, he's not even gay! He has a fucking girlfriend!"

Me and Joe looked at each other and leant toward him. "Are you serious?" I said curiously.

"Yeah, dude, he's dated girls for ages! How can you not know that?"

I leant back in my seat. "Whoa, my gaydar must be faulty."

Joe turned to look at me slowly. "Gaydar? _Gaydar? Are you fucking kidding me?"_

I laughed. "Sorry. Is that too far?"

"Yes," Andy and Joe said in unison. "I told you to keep the campness to a minimum." Joe finished.

"Okay, darling."

"Shut up."

"Aww, I'm sorry sweetheart."

"Save the pet names for your boyfriend." He rolled his eyes at me.

I grinned, and looked over at said boyfriend. You were sitting opposite me, next to Andy. Your head was bowed and your hands were tying themselves in knots on your lap. My smile dropped.

"Patrick, are you okay?" I asked gently, trying to act as if I wasn't worried out of my mind.

Joe and Andy looked at you sadly, their brows knitting together.

You didn't even look up.

"Dude, are you gonna finish that?" Joe asked, to try to lighten the mood, gesturing at your half-eaten burrito.

Again, you didn't look up. Didn't even shake your head. You just unknotted one of your hands and shoved the plate towards him.

He watched it slide across the table, coming to a stop beside his elbow. He looked at me, then at you. "Uh...thanks...but, are you, like, alright and stuff?" Joe's bedside manner really needs some work.

When you didn't reply again, he sighed, like he was expecting it.

Andy reached out a hand and placed it softly on your shoulder. Your reaction was instant.

You flinched away from it, shooting across the bench and standing up suddenly. You thrust a fistful of dollars down on the table, then bolted out the door, without a second glance.

I jumped from my seat, staring at you as you hurried away. "Patrick? Come back! Patrick!" I called, reaching out a hand even though you were well out of reach. I started after you, but felt a hand curl round my wrist, pulling me back into my seat.

"Leave it." Joe said quietly.

I tugged at his grasp, "but I gotta go after him, why'd he do that, why'd he leave?"

Andy looked at me sadly. "We thought you'd be able to answer that."

My face furrowed into a frown as I glanced between them. They both looked very, very worried. And kinda expectant, too.

"What?" I said stupidly, confused.

Joe shifted in his seat. "Pete, can you tell us what's going on?"

"What's going on with what?"

He huffed slightly. "With Patrick."

I thought I understood. "I don't know, he's just been kinda different lately." I sighed. "He says he's fine, though. I'm just hoping whatever it is will pass."

"What else does he say to you?" Andy whispered, as if it was some sort of secret.

I shrugged. "I dunno, sometimes he's sad, and he doesn't tell me why, but sometimes he just acts normal." I glanced at their anxious faces, "why? What has he said to you?"

Joe let out a bitter laugh. "That's just the point, he doesn't say anything to us."

I was getting more confused by the second. "What?"

Andy sighed heavily. "Pete, he doesn't talk to anyone."

I stared at him. "What – what do you mean?"

"I mean, he doesn't speak to us any more. We ask him a question, we're lucky if we get a one-word answer. I think he's probably said, what, ten words to me since we started the tour?"

My stomach clenched. "Really?" _You don't speak to them? Why? Why haven't I realised?_

Joe nodded. "It's not just us, either. I've had repeated calls from his _mother_ asking if he's okay. He hasn't been in contact with any of his family for months."

"Shit." I breathed, trying to take this in. "What did you tell her?"

"There's nothing I can tell her! I don't know if he's okay, I don't know why he's stopped talking!" He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and settled his elbows on the table. "We hoped maybe you'd know something."

"No. I don't know anything. He doesn't tell me anything. He just says he's fine, if I try to ask. So I don't ask. That way, he doesn't shut me out." Worry coursed through me as I thought of you, and how much I didn't know.

"Well, you're the only one he talks to. The only times we see him smile are when he's with you."

A couple years ago, I would have been proud of that fact. Now, I know better. "He shouldn't be like that. That's not healthy."

Andy nodded. "I know. I know it's not. But, I don't know if _he's_ healthy. He seems to rely on you."

In my brain, things started to fall into place. I thought you were getting better when you started to hug me and kiss me more often that usual, thought nothing of the fact that you hardly ever left my side at all. But that word, _reliance,_ it bounced around in my head, and the more I thought about the way you acted towards me, the more true it became. "He shouldn't rely on me," was all I managed to say.

"I know. And...I'm worried that he might be...using you." Joe finished uneasily.

"Using me? What do you mean?"

"Just...maybe...using you as a, uh, shield, if you like."

"What?" I said, looking at Joe as if what he was trying to say was written on his face.

"Well...he just seems to be shutting everyone out through you. As long as you're there, he doesn't have to face reality. He's got no life outside your relationship."

His words struck a chord in me. I remembered what he'd said to me, over two years ago now, when I was an alcoholic mess. _There's life outside of bottles, Pete._

Does this mean that I'm your alcohol? Are you using me to protect yourself against whatever's going on in your head? Are you as reliant on me as I was on drink?

I didn't want to think about the answers to those questions. I also didn't want to think about the fact that the only way to cure an addiction is to remove it from your life completely.

I started to panic. "Wh- what do I do? Do I try to help him? But he won't let me help! Is he -" my voice dropped to a broken whisper, "- is he better off without me?" The words hurt to say.

Andy and Joe exchanged worried glances. Joe put an arm round me and gave me a little shake. "Look, don't worry, you don't have to make any decisions yet."

"Then what do I do?!" I nearly shrieked, looking around wildly.

"Pete," Andy said solemnly, looking me straight in the eyes, "is he hurting you?"

At first, I misunderstood. "No, of course not! He'd never hurt a fucking fly!"

He shook his head, "no, I mean, like, emotionally? Him acting like this, is it causing you, like, pain?"

I knew what I should say, I should say _no, don't worry, I only care about what he's feeling, this isn't about me._ I knew I shouldn't be so selfish, but then, I also knew that lying had never got me anywhere.

I took a deep breath, and nodded. "I can't stand it. I love him so much, but I can't keep watching him do this."

"Do you – do you think you'd be better off without him?"

The question sunk through me like cold water through fabric. "I'm not fucking leaving him." I growled, my fingers curling into fists.

Andy's tone was calm and measured. "That's not what I asked. Do you think you would be happier if you weren't in this relationship?" He spoke slowly and carefully.

My brain screamed at me, _no, no, of course I fucking wouldn't be, I love him and he's made me so happy and this relationship is the best fucking thing that ever happened to me!_

Then, in the back of my skull, there was this little voice which simply said _yes._

"I don't know," I whimpered, burying my face in my hands.

Joe sighed heavily. "Okay, just think it over. We've got the break coming up, maybe you can sort things out then. We'll stop questioning you now."

We'd agreed to have a short break after this tour, just to get our lives together and stuff, and not have to think about the band for a few months. I nodded, trying to stop all these new and scary thoughts buzzing around my brain.

"I think I need to lie down," I mumbled, having sunk into a daze, still clutching my head. Then, I remembered you. "Wait – I gotta go find him."

I got up, trying to shake off the last ten minutes, and failing miserably. The others stood too, the worry still contorting their faces.

"Pete, you don't have to if you don't want to. We could try instead if you need...time." Andy said gently. I couldn't really believe how sensitive they were both being; usually they're the type of guys that punch each other on the shoulders and talk about man things.

"Nah, it's okay. I gotta try. I can't leave him like that. D'you think he'll be back on the bus?" I tried not to think of what sort of a state you might be in when we found you.

"Yeah, probably," Andy shrugged, "but we'll go with you. For moral support. Maybe you can get him to talk to us, too."

I doubted it, but nodded anyway. We paid, donned jackets and left, not dawdling but not hurrying either. I couldn't decide whether I wanted us to go faster or not.

The bus was dark. I don't know where everyone else was, they were probably out somewhere getting shit-faced, as it was a rare evening off.

Joe turned the lights on as quick as he could. Buses are fucking creepy when they're dark. We still couldn't see you anywhere, though.

"Patrick," Andy called, then made for the very end of the bus where the bunks were.

Me and Joe followed, and we all came to a stop in front of the curtain that led to the bunks.

"Do you think he's in there?" Joe said as quietly as he could, which wasn't very quiet at all.

I nodded. You prefer the dark if you're feeling sad. It turned out that _sad_ was a terrifying understatement. 

"So, Pete, you're the expert, how do we deal with this?" Andy whispered, rubbing his hands together as if this was some kind of challenge he wanted to conquer.

I sighed. "Look, it's great you guys want to help and all, but I think it's best if I-"

"No, dude, we're taking this hit for you. You stay here, and we'll go on in."

"This isn't Call of Duty, Andy, just open the fucking curtain!" Joe growled, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet.

He pulled it back slowly, and we all peered inside.

"He's not in here." Joe said indignantly, as we flooded the bunks with warm light and didn't see any sign of a Patrick.

He was wrong, though. Looking round the wall into the darkest corner, there was a lump in the duvet. I pointed.

They both threw me reassuring glances before creeping towards you, waving their hands at me to tell me to stay back. I knew whatever they were gonna do wasn't gonna work, but decided to let them try anyway. I watched in the shadow of the curtain, where I knew you wouldn't be able to see me.

They tentatively sat beside you on the bed, and slowly pulled back the covers, to reveal your crumpled form. You were lying on your side, curled up with your head to your knees, your arms thrown over your face.

"Patrick?" Andy said, patting your shoulder. "What happened, dude?" He tried to speak lightly, but it didn't really work.

You didn't answer. And now I knew that it was apparently normal for you not to answer them.

"Talk to us, man, we wanna know what's bothering you," Joe interjected. No answer. "Is he asleep?" He mouthed at me, after patting you several times.

I shook my head. You never sleep when you're like this. You never sleep, full stop.

"Come on, just say something. We miss talking to you."

I mentally begged you to speak. _Please, Patrick, prove me wrong. Show me that you're not reliant on me. Open your eyes and say that this is all a big misunderstanding. Show me that our relationship isn't unhealthy, keep me from having to make a decision that might tear me apart._

But all that broke the silence was the shift of covers as you curled up even tighter.

Joe decided to try a different approach.

"Fucking speak, goddammit!" He exclaimed suddenly, thumping you hard.

"Joe, for fuck's sake, how's that gonna help?!" Andy snapped, thumping him right back and giving him a stern look.

He huffed in response, tense with frustration. I didn't blame him, I've had months of this, and know how fucking frustrating it is.

"Look, Patrick, please, we're your best friends, just talk to us. You don't have to tell us what's wrong, just come play Halo with us or something. Or, or watch a movie, or play some music, whatever you want. Just tell us what you want." Andy said gently.

You stirred a little, and we all held our breath. But when your lips finally moved, my heart dropped.

"Pete."

"No, dude, Pete's not here right now, sorry." Joe said, and it was good you still had your arms over your face because he looked right at me.

"Get Pete."

I pressed my fingers into my eyes. All the hope I had that maybe we were wrong about you was slowly fading.

"Please," you mumbled into your knees.

The weakness in your voice broke my heart. I knew this wasn't right. But I couldn't stay away from you any longer.

Joe and Andy sighed simultaneously. They looked at each other, then at me, then Joe seemed to give in, and waved me over.

They shifted out of the way as I sat down next to you. I placed a hand lightly on your shoulder, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.

"It's okay, Patrick, I'm here."

You stirred abruptly, and your arm shot out towards me, grabbing my other hand and bringing it close to your chest. I could feel your heart beating, and your stuttering breaths. 

"Please talk to me," I murmured, brushing hair out of your face with my free hand. Your eyes were clenched shut.

"Make the others go away," you said quietly.

My heart sunk. Joe and Andy recoiled from you, hurt crossing their faces.

"Fine," Joe growled, standing up. Andy put a hand on Joe's arm and signalled for him to calm down, leading him from the room with a last pitiful glance at you and me. They didn't leave completely, though; I knew they were hiding behind the curtain, listening to every word we said.

"That wasn't very nice," I said, like I was talking to a little kid.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, but...baby, why haven't you been talking to them?"

You didn't answer, just clutched my hand tighter.

"I didn't know, why didn't you tell me? I'm so worried, Patrick, please, just tell me what's going on in your head." I was starting to get desperate.

You hid your face in your hands again.

I couldn't take this any more. "Patrick, please!" I half-shouted, feeling you flinch, "this has been going on long enough! I'm going crazy, I gotta know what's bothering you, why don't you speak to other people, why do you cry so much, why do you hide yourself away like this?!"

You took in a deep breath, and I could tell that finally, _finally,_ I was gonna get some answers.

"I don't want to be me anymore," you whispered.

My chest tightened. "Wh- why?" I exclaimed, going completely still.

"I can't...I just...I don't know," you stammered, pressing your fingers into your eyes.

"Why don't you wanna be you, Patrick?" I was really hoping that this wasn't to do with the thing you were worried about before we first had sex, and I hoped right, it wasn't. It was so much worse. "You're beauti-"

"Don't say that," you snapped suddenly. "I know you're lying."

My eyes widened, "I'm not lying, of course I'm not lying, you're a beautiful person that says beautiful things and writes beautiful music-"

"Oh yeah? Tell that to the kids who nearly boo us off stage every night," you spat suddenly.

"Is this about the record? Look, I know it hasn't had the best of receptions but it will get better with time," I said gently.

" _Hasn't had the best of receptions?_ They hate it, Pete, they fucking hate it!" A sob ran through your voice, and the muscles in your back tensed up.

"No, they don't, they-"

"I disappointed them," you said quietly, "all of them. I let them down."

"That's not true, Patrick, you didn't disappoint anyone. Is this what's been bothering you?" For a moment, I thought I'd solved the problem.

You shook your head."It's all true. Everything that everyone's said to me is true. It's always been true, and I was too stupid to realise it." Your voice had the restraint of somebody doing everything they could to keep from crying.

"What are you talking about? What's true?"

"I can't stop thinking about it, Pete. Help me, please." Your voice cracked, and you curled up tighter.

I got more frantic by the second. "I will, I will, just tell me what's going on?"

You breathed heavily, as if bracing yourself for the things you were about to say. "Just one of those guys is worth a hundred of you, Patrick, they're all better."

I didn't understand at first. "What?"

"You can screech out as many shitty songs as you want to, but you'll always be a worthless, talentless, stupid fat kid."

"Patrick, what-"

"There'll be s-someone else. Someone smarter, funnier, better looking. There always is. And you'll see how w-worthless you really are."

I felt a chill run through me. I'd heard those words before. Wait. I'd _said_ those words before. Five years ago, before I beat you senseless on my lounge carpet.

And you'd remembered them.

Fuck, you hadn't just remembered them, you'd _recited_ them.

All this time, and they hadn't gone away. I started to feel a bit sick.

And those other words, from that horrible ex of yours, that night you'd cried yourself to sleep in my arms.

"Oh god, Patrick, I had no idea, I thought-"

You held my hand tight, and I felt another sob shiver through you. "I-it was like losing a dime then finding a dollar, you mean n-nothing to me, you're just a stupid kid, stop being s-so goddamn selfish, coward, you bratty little shit, y-you ruined everything, you're _nothing!"_

I felt tears in my own eyes as I realised how many of those hateful words had been mine.

"I'm nothing," you whispered.

Words evaded me. I simply gazed at you in horror. Those things had haunted you for years. All of this went so much deeper than I'd ever imagined.

I thought we'd got through the self-esteem stuff. You said you were fine, you'd said you were happy and confident and that I'd really helped. You were lying. Every single time you told me you were okay, you were lying to me. All this time, you've held on to those words, and now they're consuming you.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly, feeling the crushing guilt squashing me into the ground. I'd been stupid enough to think that everything I'd done to you hadn't taken its toll, that you'd forgotten that version of me. It hurt so much to see you like this. And that was when I started to realise how destructive our relationship is. I hurt you, you hurt yourself, and then the fact that you're hurting hurts me. 

Gently wriggling my hand until you let go, I shuffled nearer to you, snaking my arms underneath you and lifting you carefully onto my lap.

You shifted slightly, turning towards me and wrapping your arms tightly around me, burying your face in my chest.

"Listen to me, Patrick, none of those things are true," I whispered. "You're beautiful, you should know that by now." I'd said it so many times, yet it never got any less true.

You just cried harder. I thought I might cry too; I couldn't go on like this. I couldn't keep repeating myself over and over with no effect. What if you never believe me? What if I can never make up for all those shitty things I said to you? 

I cast a glance towards where I knew Joe and Andy were still standing, trying to figure out whether I cared that they were seeing this. I decided I didn't, and held you closer to me, cradling you in my arms and placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Those bullshit words were all said by bullshit people who didn't mean what they were saying, okay?"

"J-just because they didn't mean them, d-doesn't make them not t-true," you gulped. "I c-can't talk to people, I-I'm not worth their company, I c-can't stop thinking about it, please, m-make the pain go away, please," you sobbed harder.

"I can't, Patrick." I said, quietly. "I'm sorry."

Then you started saying things that made my blood run cold.

"P-Pete, I c-can't d-do this anymore," you choked, clutching at my t-shirt, "I-I don't want t-to live anymore, P-Pete, what d-do I do?"

I stiffened. No. You can't say that. You can't think that. "No, baby, you don't mean that, you do want to live, don't be stupid." I gave you a little shake, to snap you out of it.

"No! I sh-should have d-died in that car crash, why didn't I die?"

My heart sank into my stomach as you spilled those words. _Oh god. He wants to die, oh god. I can't do this._ "You didn't die because you were strong, sweetheart, and you're still strong. Listen to me, never _ever_ think that you want to die. Death is just a fucking easy way out. You're strong, okay, you gotta face life, it's not always easy, but it's all we got. Promise me, Patrick, promise me now that you'll be strong."

You stayed silent.

"Promise me!" I said shrilly, making you open your wet eyes and stare at me.

You still didn't say anything. I was about to shout at you some more, make you swear not to think things like that ever again, when you took one of your arms from around my chest, and looked anxiously at it, then at me.

"I-I'm sorry," you mumbled, dropping your gaze and offering me your hand.

I gazed at it in confusion, before taking it gently, wondering what you were trying to tell me.

Turning it over a couple times, I drew a blank. "Patrick...?"

You didn't look up, just tugged at your sleeve.

Pushing back the fabric of your jumper, I let out a gasp. The delicate bluish veins on the inside of your wrist were interrupted by a single, crimson cut.

_No. Please, no._

"P-Patrick, what...?" I stuttered, my body frozen in horror. "D-did you try to...to..." The words died in my throat.

You swallowed, and nodded.

"But...why...?"

"I didn't...I couldn't...I didn't do it deep enough, it...it hurt, I couldn't do it, I...I tried but it hurt so much...I'm such a fucking coward...I chickened out halfway."

I choked back tears as I kept staring at your wrist, trying to process what you'd done. "Wh-when..."

"Uh...last week."

_A week. And I hadn't noticed. You'd attempted suicide a week ago and I didn't have a fucking clue._

"I'm sorry."

"Oh god, Patrick!" I half-shrieked, shaking you roughly, "how could you do that?! Why would you...oh god, oh god, Patrick, baby, why didn't you tell me, what if I'd have lost you?! What if you'd have left me, left everyone? You idiot, how could you do something like that, how could you?!"

You didn't say anything.

"Patrick...I think you need help."

"No," you snapped.

"Please, you need to get better, you need a doctor, or, or someone, they'll help you, okay? You won't have to think like that anymore, you-"

"No!" You started to cry again, hiding your face.

"Baby, you need-"

"I need you," you mumbled into my shirt.

And that's exactly what I was afraid of. "But...but I can't help you." I said quietly, my voice breaking up.

"I know."

And that's the problem. That's always been the problem. I can't help you. You gave me so much, and I can't return the favour. And neither of us can take the pain of this anymore.

I didn't know what the hell I could say to make this better. I couldn't tell you that those horrible things weren't true, because you wouldn't believe me. I couldn't tell you it was all gonna be okay, because I just didn't know. We just keep hurting each other.

Your tight embrace showed me just how reliant you'd become. It was like you wanted to curl up and disappear completely. No-one should want that. You didn't used to be like this, but now, you were breathing me in as if you were suffocating, and I was your oxygen. But you should be able to breathe by yourself.

I hated this. It's like sitting on a train I know is crashing, but having to act like everything's fine. You couldn't see the gap in the tracks, you didn't know what was going to happen. And I had to get us out of this thing before we both went down in flames.

I hugged you close to me, resting my forehead against yours, wondering what the hell I'd do without you. _I can't let you go, I can't._ It occurred to me yet again how much I adored you.

But I'd _broken_ you. You don't need me, you shouldn't need me, you need therapy, you gotta get someone to help you remove all the poison in your head. I'd taken you and I'd thrown all my anger, all my punches, all my most despicable words at you. Now the cracks were appearing, now you were self-destructing, and you were gonna take me with you.

I tried to block those thoughts out, though. They were not meant for now. For now, it was only you that mattered. I leant down and kissed you, slowly and carefully, trying my utmost not to cry, savouring your perfect lips and tracing circles on your flawless cheeks.

After a little while, your cries became softer, and your breaths smoother, and I just kept stroking your hair like I always did, making gentle _shush-_ ing noises in your ear.

We both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

-

I don't know what to do, Patrick. This is killing me.

I've never loved anyone like I love you, and I don't think I ever will. I don't wanna imagine what it would be like not to fall asleep next to you, to kiss someone that isn't you.

I wanted to move in with you. I wanted to marry you. I wanted to have kids with you, grow old with you. But I don't think that's going to happen anymore. All I can think about is the possibility that if I stay, if we keep on like this, you'll get worse. You'll cut deeper. You'll become a twenty-five-year-old tragedy.

And I can't let that happen. I can't stand by and watch you do that. If I go, you could still have that future, you'd get help, you'd get healthy, you could fall in love again, you could marry someone, someone who doesn't hurt you, and who knows, maybe I could do those things too. We could be happy, you and me. Just not with each other.

You still don't talk to anyone. Andy and Joe understand, though, they don't question it anymore. They saw everything, that night. I think they know where this train is headed, too. They can't believe you tried to kill yourself. I can't believe it either. I can't believe you've been feeling like that all this time, and you haven't told anyone. 

 You cry almost every night, and I can't do anything about it. I can see your mental health getting worse every day. This is hurting me too much, Patrick.

I love you.

And that's exactly why I gotta let you go.

Pete. 


	40. Chapter 40

 

Dear Patrick,

This is the last one. 

I thought I'd never be able to live without you, and yet here I am, living without you.

I thought I knew what true heartbreak felt like. Turns out I had no idea. 

-

It took me so much thinking to end up at that final decision.

I think I knew all along what the best thing to do was. My mind had been leading me there, but I sure as hell didn't wanna go. Every single instinct I had fought against it.

I spent hours and hours just thinking. Sometimes, I'd feel like I was ready. Sometimes the prospect of letting you go didn't seem so terrifying, because I knew it was best for both of us, I knew I could do without you and you'd do a lot better without me.

But that feeling would go away as soon as you walked in the room. All I could see was Patrick, the boy I'd chased after for years, the boy I'm so hopelessly in love with. And I'd realise I wasn't ready in the slightest.

If I left, then this would all have been for nothing. These letters, they'd all be pointless, just weaving a dead-end path through my life. And then there's the obvious. The fact that breaking up with you would be like driving a stake through my heart.

There's more to this than me, though.

You were dying. Your mind was imploding. It got worse every single day. I couldn't do anything about it. 'Cause you hadn't got better. You hadn't started to talk to the others, you hadn't stopped crying yourself to sleep every night. You'd never leave my side, you'd shut out everything through me.

I think that was what made up my mind. I realised what I wanted more than anything was for you to be happy. And you can't be happy if we keep on like this.

So that was it.

I made my decision. I was gonna let you go.

I spent the rest of the tour second-guessing myself, thinking what if we didn't, what if I did this, said that, and maybe I could keep you. It felt like I had a permanent knot in my stomach, in anticipation of what I was gonna do.

It was more painful than I ever thought it would be.

 

I decided that the night of the last show would be the best time to do it. Or, the least disrupting time for everyone else. We were going on a break anyway, we all knew that, so the managers and stuff were prepared for us to go our separate ways after the show. Andy and Joe knew I was gonna do it, they kept giving me reassuring glances and pats on the back. I think they were kinda relieved, to be honest. Relieved for me, at least. And worried for you.

You didn't know anything. You didn't know that I'd booked separate hotel rooms for me and you, because we wouldn't be spending the night together. You didn't know that this was the last day I could kiss you, could hug you and hold you.

I made the most of every second.

Backstage, we sat listening to the hum of the crowd as they waited for us.

You were in the dressing room, your head in your hands.

"...Patrick, please, just one more show. Just two more hours, and that's it." I begged you, after you'd refused to set foot on that stage.

"No."

"Please, baby, this is the last one for...uh...for a while, come on, we've done soundcheck, everything's ready to go, all you gotta do is go out there and sing."

You shook your head. Sighing, I drifted round to the back of your chair and rested my head on your shoulder, wrapping my hands around your waist and breathing you in. I tried to memorise your scent, how it made me feel all warm inside, the tickle of your hair on my nose, the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Please," I whispered into your ear. "For me."

I felt a stab of guilt as I realised that after tonight, you'd never do anything for me.

But you sighed, and lifted your head. "Okay. One more."

I grinned, nuzzling your face and spinning your chair round to face me properly. I had to be happy, I had to make these last few hours enjoyable, if only in the weakest sense of the word.

You started to get up, but I stopped you, placing a hand on your chest and kissing you roughly, tangling my other hand through your hair. You made the nicest sounds, little high-pitched whines, breathless gasps as I deepened the kiss, trying to memorise the curve of your lips and the heat of your tongue.

"Uh...guys, we're on in like, two minutes."

I pulled back quickly, reeling round to see Joe in the doorway. I felt myself blush as he raised his eyebrows at us. "S-sorry," I stammered, trying to catch my breath.

Standing up quickly, I pulled you with me, and you clung on to my arm like you always did and let me guide you out of the room. Joe gave me a sad smile.

 

The show was amazing.

I didn't think it would be, given the circumstances, but it was as if everyone was trying to enjoy themselves as much as possible. Even you seemed to relax a bit when we got into it.

I pretty much spent the whole time just watching you. I remember when I used to do that all the time, before we got together, I'd just view you from afar, like someone views a bird flying over head, completely out of reach. Now I think of it, that's probably the last time we'll play those songs.

That was another thing I'd refused to think about. I don't really know what impression I'd been under before, but I'd assumed that I'd be able to be around you again, be friends with you again, that the band would get back together after a few months off and we'd all be back to normal. It wasn't like I was never gonna see you again, right?

So I just kinda let it all sink in, let the music burn through me and send everything I was about to do up in flames.

But it had to end some point. We couldn't stay on that stage forever. We had to pack up and clear out and try to navigate night-time New York, which meant car horns and bright lights, and at that point, everything made me jump.

I kept you close to me the whole time, watching the colours in your eyes as Times Square glittered around us, ignoring the driver and Joe and Andy's uncomfortable glances and wrapping my arms around you as if I wasn't ever gonna let go. I wished I could stop time and just stay there with you and not have the future looming over me like a bully with a baseball bat.

We eventually got to the hotel, dragging suitcases with us, getting annoyed looks from the receptionists 'cause we talked slightly louder than they would've preferred. They thrust the room keys at us with dirty looks and stern words.

You didn't show any signs of letting go of my arm.

"Uh...Patrick, why don't you go up to your...our room, okay? Have a shower and stuff, I'll be up soon." I said gently, squeezing you before giving you a little push away from me. I wanted you to be as calm and relaxed as possible before I did this, I thought if you'd showered then maybe you'd take it better. Plus, I needed some time to get myself together.

You gave me a confused look, "no, don't be silly, come with me."

"No, no, just go, okay, I'm right behind you."

You didn't look convinced. I realised I really hate lying to you. "Okay...well here's the extra room key," you said, handing me one of the two plastic cards the people at the desk had given you. "Oh, wait, they've already given you one...or two..." you puzzled, looking at the keys to my own room in my hand.

"Uh..." I fumbled, looking at the cards like I'd never seen them before.

You laughed a little. "Did- did they give you a different room?"

I tried to remember how to speak. "Uh...y-yeah, they must've done...prob- probably a mix up with the bookings," I stammered.

"Oh, right...okay," you mumbled, looking unsure. But you only had to believe the lie for a short while longer.

I coughed, trying to regain my composure. "Listen, I'll stay here and try to sort this out, okay? I'll see you in a bit."

You nodded uncertainly, and slowly let go of my arm, pulling your bags with you.

Then I remembered something. "Wait! Patrick-"

I cut myself off as I grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards me and smashing my lips into yours. You made a little noise of surprise, before sinking into the kiss. I figured that maybe if I kissed you long enough, all the horrible thoughts in your brain would turn nice again and we could stay together and have that future I dreamed about. But then I realised this wasn't a fairytale.

When I finally dragged myself away, we were both panting, and most of the lobby was staring at us. You had something that was almost a smile on your face. Whatever it was, it made your eyes light up and my world seem brighter.

"See- see you upstairs," you stuttered, quickly ducking your blushing face and turning away from all the onlookers. You always hated people staring.

I smiled after you, watching as you disappeared behind the lift doors.

Then I felt like collapsing.

Before my muscles could give up on me, though, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, dude?" Joe said lightly, bundling his luggage under his arms.

"Uh...I...no," I mumbled, trying to stop my head spinning.

"Don't worry. You can do this, okay?" He gave me a little shake.

 _No I can't no I can't no I can't no I can't._ "No, I can't," I said quietly, still staring in the direction of the lift.

"Come on, yes you can. You know it's the right thing."

"What if it's not, though? What if I'm about to make the worst decision of my life?" I already felt like crying.

He gently shoved me in the direction of the lift. "No, you've already made your decision. No second-guessing yourself now."

"But I don't wanna do it, it's gonna hurt so bad!" I whined, wishing Joe was the kinda guy who'd give me a hug right now.

"Look," he said calmly, turning to me as the lift doors closed, "you have to do it, or it's gonna hurt a whole lot more."

"I...I know, but what if he never wants to see me again? What if-"

Joe looked up in alarm. "Wait...you think you're gonna see him after this?"

I stared right back. "Well yeah, I mean, the band's gotta get back together some point."

"Pete...people...people don't usually wanna see their ex partners. Especially if it was a rough breakup. I'm sure as hell not in contact with any of my old girlfriends."

I stopped dead. "Wait, so...I can't see him?"

"I don't know. You've gotta see how it goes. If you end on good terms, then yeah, maybe. But..." he sighed, trailing off.

Things began to fall into place. "But...we're not gonna end on good terms, are we?"

Joe didn't answer, but the look of pity in his eyes was enough.

I nearly broke down right there in the lift. Not seeing you again had never been an option. Not kissing you, not fucking you, not holding you and falling asleep next to you, that was bad enough. That'd already ripped me to shreds. But I had to see you. I couldn't _not see_ you.

"Don't get upset, man, you're okay." Joe snapped his fingers in front of my face.

"But...I gotta be able to see him, he's my best friend, I-" I cut myself off, running my fingers through my hair. My voice became shrill, "I'm gonna break his heart! He's gonna hate me! I can't do this!"

"Pete!" Joe yelled over my shouts, "Don't you see? The whole point of this is that you don't hurt him again, and he doesn't hurt you! The only way that's gonna happen is if you let him go! Completely! Seeing each other again after something like this, can you imagine how painful that's gonna be?"

And he was right. He was so right. I couldn't do that to myself, let alone to you. I'd promised not to hurt you again. Seeing you would break that promise.

I felt this collapsing sensation in my chest which made it hard to breathe.

"O-okay," I choked, blinking back the tears in my eyes. _I can't do this._

But it didn't matter, because I had to do it. The lift doors slid open, and Joe tugged me down the corridor. My room was opposite yours.

I nearly fell through the door as it swung open, revealing the classic perfect hotel bed and that posh smell that went with it. Usually, I'd be excited about staying here. There was a chocolate on my pillow and everything.

Finally dumping my stuff in the corner, I sat down on the bed, taking a deep breath. From my window, I watched the city stretch out in front of me. There were no stars in the sky; I'd have to wish on the bright lights lining the maze of streets instead.

The minutes dragged past. I'd have to do it soon. I turned your room key over and over in my hands, wondering how long I could put this off.

Then, there came a small knock at the door.

My stomach clenched. _What if it's you, what if you know I booked a separate room, what do I do then?_ I hurried to the door, opening it cautiously.

It wasn't you, though. It was Andy.

"Hey, Joe told me this room's yours. Have – have you done it yet?" He looked at me with concern in his eyes.

I breathed out slowly, feeling the tension rising within me. "No."

"Okay. Listen, uh, good luck, I guess. Just remember it's the right thing to do." He gave me a pat on the shoulder. It's weird, Andy has this way of calming people down.

I nodded. "I'm so scared, Andy. I don't know what I'm gonna do without him." My voice was hoarse and restrained.

"Listen, it'll be difficult at first. He's been in your life so long, of course it's gonna be different. But you'll get through it, alright? I know it's a cliché, but there's plenty more fish in the sea. He's not the only person you could fall in love with. You'll both be happier in the long run."

With that, he pulled me into a quick but tight hug, knocking the air out of me before setting me back down.

He smiled sympathetically, giving me another pat on the shoulder. Then, he cast his gaze towards the door to your room. "You ready?"

I swallowed hard. "Y-yeah."

He walked across the corridor, and I followed.

I took a last, deep breath, and pushed the key card into the slot. The light flashed green, and the door opened.

Andy placed a hand on my back and gently shoved me over the threshold, shutting the door behind me. I was on my own now.

Your things were partially unpacked, suitcases spewing clothes out onto the carpet. Soft footsteps sounded from the bathroom; I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I could have a few moments more to calm down.

"Hey, it's me," I called out, walking over to the bed and perching on the end. I ran through what I was gonna say, and how I was gonna say it, my heart in my throat and the muscles in my back as tight as canvas.

The curtains were drawn over your window, so I had no other option than to stare at the bathroom door, hoping that maybe you'd just stay in there forever and I could call off this whole thing.

After a few minutes, though, the handle twisted and you appeared.

I immediately cursed myself for telling you to take a shower; your hair was all fluffy and you were wearing your adorable stripy pyjamas and there was a slight blush in your cheeks, and all I wanted to do was bound over and plant kisses all over you. Your eyes lit up when you saw me, and I felt this huge stab of guilt 'cause you had no idea what I was about to do.

You padded over to the bed, plopping down next to me and curling your bare feet underneath you, reaching out for my arm and cuddling into it.

This was it. I had to do it. I couldn't lie to you any longer.

_But how do I start? Do I just say it as fast as possible? Or do I try to cushion the blow and lead you there gently? Would that just hurt you more?_

You were the one who spoke first, though.

"Where's all your stuff?" You asked, peering around the room.

 _No more lying._ "I...uh...I'm staying in a different room." I finally sighed.

You sat up a bit and frowned at me. "Why?"

I shifted round a bit so I could look at you properly. "Uh...I...um...oh god..." I could feel the sobs in my throat, running a hand over my face and biting down on my lip.

Worry flitted through your eyes as you gazed at me. "Pete?"

My mouth flapped wordlessly. I unwound your arm from my own and held both your hands gently, bringing one of them up to my lips and kissing each of your fingers. Then, I turned your wrist over and kissed the pale pink scar that still hadn't faded. The first of many tears dripped from my eyes. I hadn't even said anything yet and I was already in pieces. 

You fidgeted uneasily. "Pete?" You said again, your voice laced with anxiety.

 _Do it,_ the voice at the back of my mind told me. Brushing my lips over your hands for a final time, I looked up at you again. Your frown deepened when you saw my glassy eyes. 

I couldn't speak. Your lips were just sitting there in front of me, plump and pink. You ran your tongue over them nervously. I took in a deep breath.

"Okay, listen, Patrick..." I gulped, "I...uh...I don't think that we should...that we should...be...together any more."

You blinked. "Wh-what?" 

"That's why I booked another room. I'm so sorry for lying to you."

Your lips parted in horror and the light dropped from your eyes. "You're...you're breaking up with me?"

I looked into your wide eyes and nodded slowly, feeling the warm trails of more tears streak my cheeks. You were looking at me as if I'd just put a bullet through your heart. 

You shook your head. "No, no you're not, you...you wouldn't do that, you're not..." you stammered, searching my face for answers. 

"I'm so sorry...I just...I think we'd be better off apart."

"Why?!" You said shrilly, your eyes wide with distress.

I bit my lip to stop it trembling, then tried to speak without sobbing. "Because...because we're hurting each other."

You gripped my hands tighter. "No we're not! You're not hurting me! Am...am I hurting you?" Your voice sunk to a whisper.

 _No, no, of course you're not, I love you, I-_ "I...I just can't keep watching you do this to yourself." I said quietly. "You haven't been happy in months, and you're getting worse."

"But you're making me happy!" Your eyes started to fill with tears.

"No, I'm not. We're too reliant on each other, Patrick. This is a codependent relationship, it's not healthy."

"But I need you!"

"Exactly, you shouldn't need me. You need your own life, Patrick."

You took my arm and brought it close to your chest. "But...I don't want a life without you."

I swallowed back tears and breathed slowly. "That's the problem. We can't be together like this. I'm sorry, I just...I can't do it any more."

As I looked at you, I saw how tired you were. God knows how long it'd been since you'd slept. There were grey circles under your eyes, and your face was drained of all colour now. I think it was then that I realised I might have made the right decision.

Gradually, I watched as you broke down. You began to cry, gripping my sleeve tighter and shaking your head.

"No...no...how...how c-could you do this, I th-thought you loved me...I thought I made you happy...I thought...I thought..." The words died in your throat.

I couldn't say anything. I wanted so bad to say _of course I love you, of course you make me happy,_ but I couldn't 'cause it wouldn't be fair on either of us.

You looked up at me, your lips trembling, and I felt my chest tighten as I saw how distraught you were. "Please Pete...p-please don't leave me...you c-can't leave me..."

I decided that me even being here still was hurting you. I'd have to go soon. I'd have to walk out that door and never see you again. Joe was right. The band wasn't gonna get back together after this. I wasn't ever gonna see those big beautiful eyes again, or hear that gorgeous voice. This was it.

I started to pull away from you, getting up off the bed.

Feeling me shift, you clung to me tighter. "No...don't leave...please don't l-leave."

"I gotta, Patrick, I gotta," I murmured, as you scrambled off the bed too, wrapping your arms around me and sobbing into my chest.

"I n-need you," you mumbled into my shirt, "I can't d-do this without you, please, I love y-you, I love you!"

_I love you too. I love you more than you'll ever know._

"I c-can get better, I c-can, will you l-love me then? I'll d-do anything, _anything!"_

I didn't reply. I just hugged you tight, my tears falling onto your pyjamas.

"Please," you whispered.

I started to move towards the door.

"No..." you protested, trying to keep me where I was.

I reached for the door handle.

"No!" You suddenly shrieked, another wave of sobs trembling through you.

All I could do was hold your shaking form as you cried. The pain of this was more than I could bear.

Then, with all the strength that was left in your body, you reached your arms around my neck and smashed your lips into mine, kissing me as if it was the last thing you'd ever do.

I should've pushed you away. But I'd never wanted to kiss anyone more in my life, so of course I kissed back.   
  
I could feel the tears on your face and the sobs in your throat, and everything we hadn't said came pouring out. It was unlike anything else. The way your lips crushed into mine so powerfully, the way you held me so tight, it was a last attempt to make me stay, to show me how much you loved me and how much I'd hurt you. You held me like I was your last breath. And it fucking ripped me apart.

Placing my hands either side of your face, I traced the curve of your cheeks, and as I kissed you I graced my tongue across the roof of your mouth, twisting our hot breaths together, trying to memorise everything, trying to keep this moment safe forever. I didn't want to leave. The last thing I wanted to do was walk out of that door, and yet it was the one thing I had to do.

"I gotta go, Patrick," I said, stealing words in between kisses. You just kissed me harder. 

I reached towards the door handle again, this time twisting it sharply.

"No..." you mumbled against my lips, threading your fingers through my hair.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling away. I opened the door and backed out of it, trying to prise your hands off me as gently as I could.

"No, p-please...stay..." you sobbed, your breaths shivering through you like tremors.

"I'm so sorry...it's for the best, I promise..." 

"No..."

"Y-you're gonna find someone else, I p-promise, okay, you'll get better without me, I swear-"

You cut me off by pressing your lips to mine one last time. But your strength was fading. I could feel you breaking in my arms. I lifted you away from me, placing you back down and pushing your hands back towards you. 

"I love you!" You cried desperately, tears spilling from your eyes as you tried to cling to me.

I looked into your gorgeous blue eyes one more time, and pulled the door shut.

I could hardly get across the corridor before I started to sob.

My hands shook as I took out my key card and pressed it into the lock, yanking at the handle and falling into my room.

Just as I shut the door, I felt something slam into it.

"Pete, please!" I heard you cry, beating your fists against the door.

I slid down to the ground, my head in my hands and my knees pulled to my chest.

"Please, d-don't do this! Come b-back to me!"

I felt emptiness overtake me, and curled up as tight as I could.

I don't know how long you shouted for.

After a while, you stopped. The last thing I heard you say was, "Please, don't leave me."

Then all I heard was crying.

-

I can't remember how long I sat there, it could have been minutes or hours or days. We sat barely inches apart, and yet the distance between us was unimaginable.

When I'd reduced my sobs to bleary-eyed sniffs, I pressed my ear to the door, listening for any sign that you were still out there. I couldn't hear anything.

It felt like my bones weighed a tonne as I tried to get up, wiping my eyes and staggering across the room to find my phone.

After nearly calling a lot of the wrong people, I hit the right buttons, pressing the phone to my ear and hoping my voice sounded vaguely normal.

It rang for long enough to make me worried. _Please pick up._

"Hello?"

I breathed out. "Joe."

"Uh...Pete?"

"Yeah."

"Pete...it's fucking two o'clock in the morning, what the fuck?"

I hadn't even thought about the time. "Oh...sorry."

"What do you want?" He slurred irritably.

"Uh...I did it." I sighed.

"Did wha- oh. Oh god. Okay. Are – are you okay?" He sounded more awake now.

"No."

"Right. Uh...do you want me to come over?"

"No, no...I just...can you see if he's still outside?"

"Outside? What?"

"Outside my room."

"Fuck. Was it that bad?"

I nodded, then realised he couldn't see me. "Yeah."

"Okay...look, don't worry, just stay there and I'll see, okay?"

I heard some scuffling sounds and some swearing, then the sound of a door being opened.

He sighed down the phone. "Yeah. Yeah he is. He's asleep, though."

"Okay."

"Please tell me you have his room key?" he asked hopefully.

I felt in my back pocket, feeling the card I'd shoved in there earlier, along with the one of the ones to my own room. "Yeah."

"Okay, good. I'm gonna pick him up, and you're gonna open the door, alright?"

"Okay."

He hung up.

I crept over to the door, and opened it carefully.

Joe had clearly just got out of bed, his hair sticking up everywhere and his eyes half lidded. He had you bundled in his arms, your head tipped backwards and your feet dangling. Tears still streaked your face and clung to your eyelashes.

Joe looked kinda shocked when he saw me. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

I swallowed hard, trying not to cry again. I didn't look at your face as I hurried across the corridor and opened your door, holding it as Joe guided you into the room. Running over to the bed, I drew the covers back, giving you an extra pillow because that's what you like best, and smoothing the sheets down.

He gently lowered you into the bed, watching carefully to see if you showed any signs of waking up. You didn't. This was the first time you'd slept in a very long while, you weren't gonna wake up.

Joe stepped back as I tucked the covers around you, feeling fresh sobs in my throat. I couldn't look at you.

I knew exactly what I had to do next.

Rushing over to your suitcase, I rooted through it, trying not to make too much of a mess and trying not to collapse into your smell at the same time. Joe watched, slightly confused, as I finally found what I was searching for.

It was that sweater of mine I knew you'd borrowed. I couldn't have you finding it and hurting because of it.

With the sweater looped over my arm, I reached for your phone, sitting on the dresser, and quickly unlocked it. We'd shared passwords ages ago.

Finding your photos, I flicked through them. That was when I started to cry. Most of them were taken when you were happy, selfies of us at shows, or on dates, your dazzling smile making it difficult to focus on anything else. Some were just of me, taken when I wasn't even looking, cooking or down the other end of the sofa or whatever stupid shit I was doing. I felt myself grin. We used to be so happy.

Then, I deleted every single one.

My fingers shook, tears smudging the screen as I fumbled with it. I moved on to your emails. I searched for my name and then deleted all messages. Most of them were melodies we'd never write, lyrics you'd never sing.

Finally, I deleted my phone number.

I put your phone down, and placed your key card next to it.

Walking slowly to the bed, I leant over you, gazing at your face. For a second, I pretended that this hadn't happened, that I'd just put you to bed and was about to crawl in next to you and snuggle up to you.

Very carefully, I wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of my thumb, wishing I could take the memories of tonight with them, and closed my eyes. Leaning towards you, I gently touched my lips to yours, feeling their soft curves for the very last time. They're like rose petals.

I had to leave them, though. Sucking gently on your bottom lip, I pulled away.

"Sleep tight, baby," I whispered, knowing you wouldn't hear me but hoping anyway.

I allowed myself one last look at your peaceful form.

Then I straightened up and walked out of the room, pushing Joe out into the corridor and shutting the door behind me.

And that was it. The last time I'd see you.

The relationship I'd dreamed of for nearly nine years was over.

I pressed my fingers into my eyes as if the tears might go back into their ducts, determined not to cry in front of Joe. I was amazed I still had any tears left.

"Pete..." Joe began, looking at me uncomfortably as I rested my forehead against your door. "Oh, fuck it, come here."

And with that, he grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug, thumping me on the back as if that might help.

"Well done, dude. I'm sorry." 

I just nodded into his shoulder. I didn't wanna speak in case I broke down again.

He let go of me, giving me a punch on the arm in the process. "You really had to delete everything?"

I nodded again. "I...I want him to forget me. Any reminders would just hurt him more."

"Okay. Are you gonna leave before he wakes up?"

I shook my head. "I'm leaving now."

Joe looked up sharply. "What? As in, _right_ now?"

"Yeah." I hadn't specifically planned to do this, but I hadn't unpacked my stuff either.

"Fuck, man. Where you going?"

"I'll go home first. Then I'll probably take a holiday. Get myself together. Try to...y'know...get over him."

"Okay. So...when am I next gonna see you?" He looked genuinely concerned.

"I dunno. I'll check in, I guess. Just...tell me how he's doing. Not...not in detail, just...keep him alive, okay?" Anyone else might've taken that as a joke, but Joe knew I was deadly serious.

He nodded. "Yeah. I'll look after him."

I gulped back tears. "Don't leave him alone for too long at a time. Give him lots of hugs. And hot chocolate, he really likes hot chocolate. Make sure he's eating okay. Make sure he's sleeping okay. Call his friends, call his family. Make him talk to his mum, she'll help. Don't let him call me, don't let him talk about me, if he cries just talk to him, he'll listen to you eventually, tell him to keep making music, tell him to-"

"Whoa there. I'll do my best, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay. Tell him I said – wait, don't tell him anything. Make him forget me."

Joe gazed at me sadly, breathing a long, slow breath.

"I'm sorry," I croaked, wiping my eyes again. "You were right all along. It did wreck the band."

"No, no, don't worry about that. It was fun while it lasted. I'll miss it, though," he sighed wistfully.

"Yeah. Tell – tell the managers it's not a break, it's a breakup. Tell Andy I'm sorry, too. And goodbye, I guess."

"Are you really gonna go?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, I'll miss you, man. Make sure you keep in touch, though. And take care of yourself." He stuck out a hand, and I shook it.

"Yeah, I will. Thanks for everything."

"No problem," he grinned, giving me a last pat on the back before disappearing back down the corridor to his room.

I didn't waste any time getting out of there. I didn't even get changed, I just hauled my bags back down to the lobby and checked out, not caring that my eyes were still red and the front of my shirt was soaked in your tears.

I got a cab to the airport and the earliest flight to Chicago.

-

Home doesn't feel like home any more.

The last few hours passed in a blur. When I got back to my house, despite being nearly dead on my feet, I rushed round and scooped up anything that belonged to you, any clothes, any shoes, any books or CDs or anything, and put it in a box.

I drove round to your apartment, and put all the things back where they should have been, so it wouldn't look like they'd ever lived at my place. Then, I collected anything that might've belonged to me. I searched long and hard, finding various toothbrushes I'd left there, movies, socks, hats. There was so much we didn't even notice we were sharing, we were so involved in each other's lives. Finally, I found the key to my house I'd given you, and pocketed it.

I left your apartment as quickly as I could. I told myself it was the dust that was making my eyes water. I took my key to your place off my keyring and put it carefully on the kitchen counter. Then I marched out and slammed your door shut behind me.

And that was it.

I was completely out of your life.

When I got home, I must've cried for hours.

-

It's so empty without you.

At the moment, I'm just sitting here with my phone, scrolling through my own photos. I didn't have the heart to delete some of them. Some of these memories, I don't wanna forget. There's this one of us on a beach somewhere, maybe it was Santa Monica or it could've been San Diego, and you've got ice-cream all over your face and you obviously didn't want your photo taken but you're laughing anyway and I remember trying to get both of us in the shot but cutting most of my face out so all you can see of me is my ear. I miss you so much.

I've got one of your t-shirts, too. I know I shouldn't've kept it, but it still smells of you. I don't wanna wear it in case I make it smell of me, so I'm just kinda cuddling it. I wish it was you I was cuddling. I'm trying to push back my desire for a hot chocolate. You got me hooked on those things.

It's dark outside now. I spent half the day at the airport and the other half erasing all memory of me from your life. I don't really know what to do now. I gotta go somewhere, though. Maybe Europe, go brush up on my history. Go do some tourist-y things. Just nowhere that there's loads of parties and stuff.

That's one thing I've made very clear to myself. I'm never drinking again. No matter how much I miss you, no matter how much I wanna fill this void inside of me, I'm not fucking drinking. Even after we've broken up, I couldn't do that to you. We both worked so hard for this, you helped me so much, I can't let that all go to waste.

It's gonna be weird not writing these letters every time something happens, too. I guess that means I gotta actually deal with my feelings rather than just spilling them onto paper. I dunno what I'm gonna do with all of them. I thought about burning them, but I don't think I want to. I think I'll just put everything in a box, all the photos and the memories and stuff, all in a box that I can lock up and forget about. Maybe in ten years time I'll dig it out and smile at the boy I used to love.

My plant died, too. I know that's not the main problem right now, but I really got attached to that thing. When I got back this morning, though, it was all dried up and dead, and I don't think I would've been able to save it like I did last time. So I threw it out. Maybe I'll get another one, but I don't know. I don't wanna replace it straight away.

I haven't cried in a while, so I guess that's a good thing. Or maybe I just haven't registered the fact that I just lost the person I love more than anything in the world. We went through so much, me and you. God, I can't write about this. I'm gonna break my non-crying streak.

All those romantic movies, I thought they were exaggerating when people said they felt empty without their boyfriends or girlfriends. Now I know they're understating. I can't really write how I feel about this. It's not something that can really be expressed in words. It's this physical pain, as if someone's cut me open and taken out pieces of me, it actually hurts when I think about the fact that I'm never gonna hold you in my arms again. I really, really love you.

Patrick.

I always loved that name. It suits you so perfectly. I'll never write it again.

I know this is pointless. I know this whole letter-writing thing has been pointless from the start, 'cause it never helped me get over you. Eight years ago, that was all I ever wanted to do. Now it's the last thing I wanna do.

So this is it. The last one. This is my attempt at closure, I guess. I always thought that made it sound like you've died. But I've gotta end this soon. I gotta write you off as just another memory, I can't let myself think about you, you're not part of me any more, that time of my life is over. Tomorrow, I'm gonna wake up, and you're not gonna be beside me. 

I really, truly, wish you the best. You deserve to be happy, and you know what, so do I. That's why I had to do it, so we'd both be happy.

Sweetheart, I know you can do it. You can get better, you can meet someone new and make them the happiest person on earth, okay? You're nothing less than beautiful, I hope you realise that one day.

Okay, I really gotta stop this now, my hand is shaking so bad and the tears keep smudging the ink. 

I've never felt anything like the pain of this. Letting you go has ripped me apart. 

Thank you for everything.

I'll never forget you.

From Pete.  


	41. Chapter 41

_\- two years later -_


	42. Chapter 42

To Patrick, I guess,

Is that what I used to write? I can't even remember. It's been so long since I've written your name.

So, I just write to you? Not even about you, just _to_ you? Okay. I can't believe I used to do this on a regular basis. Isn't it kinda creepy?

How've you been? Well, that's pointless to ask, you're not gonna reply.

I've been good, actually. Two years is a fucking long time, man, lots of things have changed. I feel like I've changed.

I've stayed clean, which I'm pretty fucking proud of. It was difficult, especially at first. But, I got through it. I travelled around a lot, which was fun. I saw a load of the stuff we'd been too busy to see when we were on tour.

But I guess, if I'm gonna do this properly like I used to, then I gotta talk about my feelings and stuff.

The breakup was tough. Like, really, really tough. Those first couple months after, man, I felt like a zombie. Even when I'd left Chicago, left all the memories behind, they were still with me. I don't even remember anything about Italy, 'cause I was too busy thinking how I could've taken you there on our honeymoon.

It took me ages to stop thinking about you. I'd see a painting, and think _I wonder if Patrick would like that,_ or hear a song and know that you could sing it way better. Everything reminded me of you.

But I still just kept on going. I couldn't go back to you, so I just kept moving forward. I even met someone, this dead gorgeous French guy, who kinda looked like George Clooney except younger. He only spoke a bit of English and I spoke fuck all French, and it sounded like a love story waiting to happen but he was kind of a dick, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, he was hot, and the sex was fucking mind-blowing, but he wasn't looking for anything serious, and he could see I was hung up on someone else. I ended up telling him about you, and I think he said something along the lines of _don't worry, I will kill him for you._ So just as a heads up, if you see an angry Frenchman, don't approach him.

You've no idea how hard it was not to call. Just to send you a text, an email, anything to stay connected to you. The closest I got was this one night in Paris, alone in a hotel room, and before I knew it, I was in tears just because you weren't lying next to me. I couldn't take it anymore, so I grabbed the hotel phone and got seven digits through your number before I realised what I was doing.

So I just kinda learnt to block you out. Thinking about you hurt me, yet it seemed like the only thing I could do, the only thing I wanted to do, but I stopped. I refused to let your name enter my head, I deleted Joe's texts about how you were doing before I'd even read them, so that I was completely cut off. And guess what, it worked.

I'm over you. And it's not like it was before, it's not a lie to cover up my infatuation, it's just true. I've been over you for a long time now.

I had a couple other relationships. One just ended, which was a shame, 'cause I think I really liked the guy, and he really liked me. Jonathan, his name was. He was nothing special, really, but then I didn't want anything special. He was sweet and kind and to be honest, he was everything I needed. I feel like I could've married him, and been happy. Like, I was content with him. But I guess things just didn't really work out, he didn't always understand me and I didn't always understand him, and I suppose we wanted different things in the end. I miss him.

I dunno, I guess it's at times like this that you think of your ex-lovers. I'm not really lonely, just kinda deflated, maybe that's what made me write this.

Also, maybe the fact that I'm gonna see you again.

It was Joe who actually suggested it in the first place. I was round his place, for the first time in a while. I'd met up with him and Andy a couple times, had a couple phone calls, but this was the first time we actually got to talk properly. The first time we felt comfortable talking about you.

I guess that was the problem at first. They knew that I didn't even wanna think about you anymore, so they avoided saying anything to do with the band or the past at all. It was awful 'cause I knew they probably knew where you were and what you were doing and whether you were okay and I so wanted to ask them all my questions but I couldn't 'cause it would hurt too much.

This time though, it didn't. We just sorta talked normally.

Joe's life has really changed. He's got this amazing new house, and he got married too. He's all grown up. I guess I wanted to congratulate him and stuff, because now I'm the type of person who actually has some of their shit together, so we sent some emails and I drove to New York. It's a fucking long way, too.

His place took ages to find. It's in the suburbs, he actually managed to find somewhere with actual trees near it. It's nice, a nice neighbourhood, it's like something from a movie, with kids riding their bikes and clean pavements and flowers in the gardens. I'm quite jealous of him actually.

We'd decided to have sort of a reunion type thing, I guess? Andy was invited too, it was just a casual catch-up. We hadn't been in the same room together for a very long time, so it was way overdue.

Andy was already there when I arrived. He'd flown in, Joe picked him up and I was gonna take him back to the airport the next day, 'cause I wanted to spend a few more days in the city before I went back home. Anyway, enough about logistics.

I hoped I'd got the right house as I picked my way along the perfect driveway and pressed the doorbell.

"Pete!" Joe pretty much yelled when he opened the door, shadowed by Andy.

I grinned at him, and held out my arms, raising an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes, but accepted the hug anyway, nearly picking me off the ground in the process.

"Dude! I haven't seen you in fucking ages!" He punched me on the arm and dragged me through the front door.

His house is massive. It's got lovely varnished floorboards and an open-plan kitchen. And yes, I do get excited about stuff like that now.

He led me through to the lounge and pretty much shoved me into one of the chairs. I'd missed his shoves.

"Tea? Coffee?" he asked, clapping his hands together.

"Uh, coffee please, black no sugar."

He shot me finger guns before wandering over to the kitchen and filling the kettle.

"So, Pete," he called from behind the worktop, "whatcha been up to? Did you get here okay?"

I laughed, "nah, your place is hard to find." I gazed around at the high ceilings and large skylights. "It's a great house, dude."

He grinned. "Yeah, it's a long way from that smelly old apartment I used to have. There was definitely some kind of mould in the walls of that place."

"But, like, who'd you have to kill to get somewhere like this?"

He shrugged, "it wasn't always like this. It was a dump when we bought it, on the inside anyway, but we fixed it up pretty good. I guess we liked the area best, it's got some good schools, y'know?"

_Wow. Joe's thinking of having kids. Things really have changed._ "Cool. Congratulations, by the way," I motioned at the framed picture of Joe and his family on his wedding day.

"Thanks, man. Sorry again for not inviting you guys, it was only a small thing, family only. Even though you're basically my brothers."

He looked at me and Andy as he said it, and I couldn't help feeling like there should be someone else here.

"So how're you?" Andy said as he sat down across from me.

For once, I could actually give a positive answer. "Yeah, I'm good, actually. Still in Chicago, been doing stuff for Black Cards."

"Cool. How's that going?"

I shrugged. "It's fun. It's good to be writing stuff again, y'know? I feel like I didn't do it for so long I got rusty."

Andy nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Damned Things has been a lifesaver when it comes to keeping me playing."

Wandering back to us with my coffee, Joe heartily agreed, sinking down at the opposite end of the couch.

At that point, we all just kinda looked at each other, taking in all the differences. Andy's cut his hair really short, he looks even more wise and all-knowing now. Give him a pair of sunglasses and he'd look fucking badass, too. Joe let his hair grow longer, it's all curly. He sort of looks like a young Brian May.

Turns out they were thinking about the same thing. "So you lost the emo fringe?" Joe laughed, pointing at my now adult, normal-looking hair.

I smiled. "Yeah. I think I finally realised it's not 2006 anymore."

"Looks good, dude," he mused, before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "so how's Jon?"

Sighing, I felt this little sinking feeling in my chest. "Uh...we broke up. 'Bout three weeks ago."

"Aww, man, I'm sorry. You two were so happy!" He looked genuinely disappointed.

"I know. I guess it just didn't work out."

He gave me a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, dude. You'll find someone else soon."

A couple years ago, I wouldn't have believed him, but now, I know he's right. "Yeah. Plenty more fish in the sea." I looked over at Andy. "You got anyone at the moment?"

He shook his head. "Nah. You know me, I'm a lone wolf. All I need is Crossfit and Star Wars."

I laughed. I realised I'd missed Andy too.

It's funny, the more we talked, the more comfortable we became, we seemed to gradually sink back into being best friends. Once we'd got all the awkward small talk out the way, we were back to arguing about movies and swapping funny stories and demanding that the others listen to this song or this album. It was so easy, and I couldn't help being reminded of how we used to be.

But then there was also this underlying feeling that there should be four of us sitting round the coffee table.

I tried not to think about it, I really did. But then I also thought _why am I avoiding this now? Now that I've moved on, what's wrong with me asking about you?_ I mean, I wanted to know. I still care about you, you're still, in theory, my friend.

So I just sorta picked a random gap in the conversation and said what I was thinking.

"How's Patrick doing?" I asked brightly. It was weird to say your name again.

Both of them glanced up in alarm. They looked completely caught off guard, Joe's eyebrows shooting halfway up his forehead.

"Uh..." Andy started, frowning at me, "I thought you didn't want to know?"

I shrugged. "No, not at first. But, y'know, things are different now."

Joe peered at me curiously. "Wait...so...you really wanna know?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. I should've asked a long time ago."

He smiled, and in his eyes there was something like...pride? He sat up in his seat and put his hands on his knees. "Well, he's doing good, actually. Like, really good."

I felt this little swell of happiness in my chest. "Really? That's great, what's he been up to?"

"Uh, I dunno, lots of things. I saw him last week, actually," he mused, then shot Andy a smirk. "He looks different. Waaaay different."

Andy smirked back and nodded.

I frowned at him. "You've seen him too?"

"Yeah, of course, loads of times. Not so much lately, but still sometimes. He came to Chicago on tour."

I looked up quickly. "On tour?"

He laughed. "Wow, we've got a lot to fill you in on. D'you wanna know everything?"

I shrugged. "I guess so." I knew that was code for _do you want to know the bad stuff too._

Joe shifted in his seat. "Uh...okay, so...it was pretty awful after you left."

I bit my lip and nodded slowly. "How – how bad was it?"

"Bad. God, that morning, when he woke up and you'd left...d'you remember that?" He glanced at Andy, who pursed his lips and sighed solemnly. "We couldn't even get him out of bed. We had to book more nights at the hotel 'cause he wouldn't move. Eventually we did, though, but he wouldn't talk. Like, at all. We actually started to get pretty worried that he wouldn't pull through, and maybe we'd lost him completely."

Andy took over. "After about, like, a week, he started to say stuff; not much, just a few sentences here and there. We got him back to Chicago, and we nearly left him at his flat, but then we thought it would be best if he wasn't alone, so we took him to his parents'. We told them what happened and they said they'd look after him, and they did. His mum kept us in the loop. And I guess he got better, 'cause next thing we know, he's doing promo and filming videos and stuff. That was about six months after. And he's been great ever since."

I couldn't help feeling like they'd missed some stuff out. "Whoa there. Promo for what?"

"His record thing he did."

"He made a record?"

"Yeah, and an EP. I think being busy helped him through it."

I breathed out slowly. "So, he got better? What, just like that?"

Andy shrugged. "Well, I dunno how long it took, but he's definitely better now."

Nodding, Joe smiled. "He really got his life together. Hell, I knew you were right for leaving, but I didn't know you'd be _this_ right."

I blinked at him. The little ball of happiness in my chest grew, this pride that you were happy and healthy, and a wide grin spread across my face. "That's...that's really great. That's really really great. Good for him."

Joe laughed. "Are you being serious, or are you being the bitter ex about all this?"

"Nah, no bitterness. I'm glad he's happy, that was the whole point of me leaving in the first place."

"Are you sure, are you _sure_ there's no hard feelings at all?" he raised an eyebrow, like he was trying to test me.

I shook my head, and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Well..." he started, still deep in whatever he was pondering, "do – do you wanna see him?"

I looked up sharply. _See you? No, no, seeing you had never been an option. I was gonna cut you out of my life forever, that was the deal._

But was it the deal anymore? Everything's so different now, from what I've heard, you've changed a lot. I wanna see your new life.

After processing the question for an uncomfortably long time, I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great! Ooh, this is fucking awesome, we can have a proper reunion next time!" Joe grinned, before taking his phone out his pocket and chucking it at me.

I caught it clumsily, "Wha – what's this for?"

"His number's on there, call him."

"What, now?" I exclaimed, staring at the phone as if it might attack me. This was all happening way too quickly.

"Yeah, why not?" Joe shrugged, frowning at me.

"Well...I dunno, I mean, it's been so long...I don't know what to say."

"Just talk to him. Come on, two years isn't enough to forget how to talk to each other."

"Well yeah, but, like...what if he doesn't want to talk to me?"

Joe sighed. "Look, he's better now, of course he'll wanna talk."

I glanced at him uncertainly.

He huffed. "Oh, come on, it's not like he's still got feelings for you! He's over you, just like you are with him."

_Over me?_ I don't know why that was news to me, of course you're over me, it's been two whole fucking years. We've both moved on. "Are you absolutely sure?" I asked, just to check.

Joe laughed. "Yes, absolutely sure, he's got a girlfriend, for crying out loud!"

_A girlfriend? A girlfriend. Okay. I guess that makes things easier._ "Oh. Right. Well, then, I s'pose it can't hurt."

I stared at the phone, the numbers on the screen, the little green button begging for me to press it. I should've been able to do it, really, I mean all it was was calling an old friend. But I couldn't. I got all nervous, wondering what to say and how to say it, whether it was really the right place and the right time to hear your voice again after two years.

"You want me to do it?" Joe asked gently, watching my inner struggle.

"Yeah. Yeah, please." I handed him back his phone.

He rolled his eyes at me, shaking his head. "Honestly, I've gotta do everything round here," he said dramatically, flipping his hair over his shoulder.

I watched as he pressed the button and held the phone to his ear.

He did the waiting-for-the-other-person-to-pick-up face for what must've been quite a few rings, before I heard the buzz of a _hello?_ at the other end of the line.

"Hey, dude, what's up? Oh, cool, where are you now? Nice. My nan lives near there. Ha, no. Yeah. I'm fine. Yeah, look, I was just talking to Pete and I wondered – yeah, Pete. Yeah, I know. He's doing good, actually. I _know,_ it has been a while. Well, would you wanna meet up with him? Cool! Yeah, I know. Just a casual thing, I guess, like coffee or something?" He looked over at me for approval. I shrugged and nodded. I could do coffee. "Yeah, he's down for that. Okay, like, next week? Friday? Yeah. Okay. Saturday then. Yeah. Like, eleven-ish? Yeah, he could do lunch too. Yeah. Well, I think it will be. That's what I said! Okay. Oh, okay, wow, yeah, I won't keep you. Oh wait, what's the name? Oh, just Starbucks. The one near you? Yeah, I know. Great. Okay, well, he'll see you there. Yeah. Have a great one. See you soon! Bye."

He hung up.

"All done," he grinned, putting his phone away.

I just sat there in a daze, wondering what the hell Joe'd got me into. Why I let him arrange my social life, I'll never know. "Wait, so what did you just say? Next Saturday?" _Am I even free then? I guess I am now._

"Yup. Just lunch, nothing major."

_Wait a second._ "Which Starbucks? There's no Starbucks where we live."

He laughed. "No, no, the one near him."

I frowned. "Yeah, as I said, there's no Starbucks near our neighbourhood."

Joe laughed again, but this time it was disbelieving. " _Our neighbourhood?_ Pete, he doesn't live in Chicago anymore."

"Uh...what?" I asked, wondering if I'd heard right. "He moved? Where does he live now?"

"L.A."

I choked on air. "L.A.? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Well you didn't expect him to keep living three blocks away from you in that tiny apartment, did you?"

Now I thought about it, it seemed obvious that you'd moved. There was no reason for you to stay. The thing is, though, that I spent a fucking long time deliberately avoiding going anywhere near your place, and being paranoid I might run into you on the street somewhere. Wow, I know so little about your life.

Then I thought about it more. And I realised I didn't care that you moved, or that I'd been wasting my time worrying, all I cared about was the fact that Joe had just arranged for me to travel nearly _three thousand miles,_ _just for coffee._

"You idiot, you could've told me that before you went and fucking made plans to meet up! Now I've gotta go the whole way across the country to find one particular Starbucks!" I nearly shrieked, exasperated.

Realisation spread across Joe's face. "Oh yeah. Oops."

"Call him back now and tell him I can't make it." I ordered, pointing a finger at him.

"Uh, I can't, he was just about to perform at some festival. He'll be on stage by now."

I groaned.

"Come on, just do it. You could, y'know, fly across and make a holiday of it. Spend a week there, book a hotel, it's fucking great weather."

"What are you, a travel agent? I'm not going all that way just to talk to my ex for a couple hours."

Joe raised his eyebrows at me. " _Your ex?_ Is that all he is now?"

"Well yeah, obviously?"

"Wow. You really have moved on," he sighed, giving Andy his this-guy-is-starting-to-piss-me-off look.

I crossed my arms. I mean, I care about you, but do I care enough to spend that much time and money just getting to you? I know that sounds really asshole-y, but, like, I have a life, I've got better things to do than have awkward conversations with old lovers.

But then, it would be good to see you. Even if I do have to go to fucking L.A.. And I kinda wanted to know what all this record lark was about, I mean, I never pictured you going solo or whatever. And who knows, maybe we could be friends again. I think that's what Joe was getting at; he just wanted to remove the invisible rift between us. And maybe I wanted that too.

"Fine. I'll do it," I said, throwing my hands up and giving in.

And that's how I ended up on a flight to California.

-

That's where I am now, on an airplane, just sitting here writing. There's nothing else to do. Why I booked a fucking night flight, I'll never know. I can't sleep on planes.

I spent a couple days in New York, seeing friends (yeah, I know, I actually have other friends now), and going to all the places Joe told me I should see. I think they're both happy I'm gonna see you, Joe gave me your new phone number and address and even showed me the coffee shop on Google Earth, so I think I know where I'm going. I dunno about all this, though.

It seems kinda stupid to say that it's _too soon,_ because god knows it's been long enough, but I guess I'm maybe thinking that it's too late. Like, if I'm honest, I don't really feel anything towards you apart from the feeling that I ought to care. You've probably forgotten about me, and I know I pretty much forgot about you. 

But I'm also a little bit excited. I wanted you to be happy, and you are, and I wanna see you happy. The last time I spoke to you, you were sobbing and broken. I always hated that that was my last memory of you. I'd like to change that. You deserve to be happy, I've known that from the start, and now that we're both better, it would be cool to just have a conversation with you. Even if I have to travel thousands of miles for said conversation. I'm still pissed about that, by the way.

I'm glad you have a girlfriend, though. I feel like it'll make things considerably less awkward, 'cause otherwise we'd just be two single people on basically a date who've seen each other naked multiple times, and that's a situation I never wanted to be in.

It'll be weird though. Just to see your face again, that'll be weird. I feel like I've forgotten what you look like. I've forgotten how you talk and walk and stuff, it's as if the name _Patrick_ used to have so much attached to it, and now it doesn't really mean anything to me at all.

There's about three hours left of the flight. I'm debating whether or not to try and squeeze past the dude next to me and go to the loo. They've turned the lights down, most people are asleep. I've nearly finished the bag of M&Ms I brought to last the journey. All I've got left are the orange ones. Why is it that all the other ones taste the same regardless of colour but the orange ones still taste of fucking orange?

Anyway, I better wrap this thing up. I gotta at least _try_ and get some sleep, otherwise I'll fuck up my sleep pattern. Not that it really matters, as according to Joe I'm on vacation, so I can sleep whenever I like. It's Tuesday today, which means when I land I've got three whole days of lounging around in hotel rooms before our little meet-up. I'm so gonna steal all those little bottles of shampoo they have.

Fucking L.A. This coffee better be fucking good.

From Pete.  


	43. Chapter 43

For the attention of Mr. Patrick Stump,

Is that good enough for you? Or should I be calling you Lord?

Listen, I know Joe and Andy said you'd changed, but I didn't think you'd have changed like _this._

I thought we could be friends, but that's not gonna happen in a million years. I don't wanna be friends with you anymore.

You're a fucking asshole, I hope you know that.

-

So I got to L.A., had a great time lounging on some beaches, blah blah blah, and before I knew it, it was Saturday.

And d'you know what, I was pretty excited. I'd been building myself up for this, thinking of questions I wanted to ask you, wondering whether you'd still give me one of your bone-crushing hugs. I dunno why, really, I just wanted to see you, see your new life and maybe sink back into friendship like I had with Andy and Joe. I shouldn't have been excited.

Nevertheless, I eventually found the coffee shop, after a fuck load of wandering around with no direction whatsoever. I was just praying it was the right one, hoping that you weren't the whole way across the city waiting in a completely different Starbucks. Now, I kinda wish you had been.

It turned out that I'd managed to get there terrifyingly early, so I had nothing to do but awkwardly sit at a table by the window and stare out of it, hoping I could see you somewhere. I didn't even buy any coffee because I wanted to wait for you, and I think the staff started to get kinda annoyed 'cause I was just sitting there taking up one of their tables for no apparent reason. The thing was, at that point, I didn't really care. That little ball of happiness in my chest had made a reappearance, and I actually had to physically stop myself bouncing up and down in my chair. 

But the people streaming past the window weren't you, the people pushing through the door were all just strangers. The minute hand on my watch ticked closer to eleven o'clock, and I cursed myself for having arrived so early.

I still looked out the window eagerly, though, seeing if I could catch a glimpse of you in the crowd. The door to the place kept opening and shutting, and I flicked my gaze towards it every time it did. An elderly man strolled in. Then a woman with a lot of kids. Then a business woman, then a blond kid, then a group of students. None of them were you.

Wait a second.

I didn't notice the blond kid looking around the café. Or walking towards me. Or standing right in front of me.

"Hello," a voice said.

I tore my gaze from the window and looked around wildly for whoever had spoken to me. My eyes settled on the stranger standing to the side of my table.

It took me a moment.

_Holy shit._

"Patrick?" I gaped.

If it wasn't for your intent blue-eyed stare, I probably wouldn't have recognised you.

Your hair was bright blond. Like, yellow-coloured, and it was sorta stacked on your head. Your sideburns had vanished. I don't think I'd ever seen you without sideburns. You were clean-shaven, your hair cut short at the sides and the back too. You weren't wearing a hat. You never _don't wear a hat._

You weren't wearing glasses either. You had this casual-ish grey suit on, the top two buttons of your shirt undone.

And you were _thin_. That was probably the most unnerving thing.

You'd always been chubby. Like, ever since I'd known you, you'd had your cute round cheeks which balled up when you smiled, and a tummy that made you all lovely and cuddly. I'd always pictured you like that, my squishy Patrick, I'd always thought you were so adorable, and I guess that's who I'd been expecting, the adorable pudgy boy I'd been in love with.

Not anymore, though. Your shoulders were smaller, your stomach flat, your hip bones more pronounced. Your jawline was defined, curving up towards your ears. And the _cheekbones._ They swept across your face, high and angular, sharp enough to cut diamond.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. What the fuck has happened to you?

I must've stared for quite a while, because you coughed a little to get my attention.

My mouth was still hanging slightly open as I looked back up at your face.

"Uh...h-hey..." I stuttered, blinking at you.

I tried to shake off the shock and act like a normal human in front of you. _It's fine, I'm okay with this, why should I care that you've changed?_

Pulling my face into a smile, I got to my feet, ready to greet you properly with a hug. I held my arms out and moved towards you.

"It's been so long, dude, how're you doing?" I exclaimed, feeling a some of the shock fade and a little bit of the excitement return.

You sidestepped me. I was left trying to hug thin air.

Instead, you held out a hand for me to shake, gazing at me with a look of _I can't believe you just tried to hug me, you creep._ I hesitated, confused, before noticing your hand and shaking it awkwardly.

A handshake, really, Patrick? Friends don't greet each other with fucking handshakes, unless they're those fun ones that look really complicated. And this definitely wasn't one of them. It was just a boring, lifeless handshake, like we were at some corporate meeting. Ugh.

At the time, though, I just sorta went with it. I sat back down, and you sat opposite me, leaning back in your seat and folding your arms.

You kept kinda looking at me as if you were expecting me to do something, but I was so busy trying to take in your new appearance that I didn't notice.

After about a minute of complete silence, I decided I had to say something or I might just shrivel up from awkwardness. "So how're you?"

You nodded curtly. "I'm okay. You?"

I smiled. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I've just been enjoying L.A., really, it's really hot this time of year and the beaches-"

"Great," you said, cutting me off. You said it like you didn't care and just wanted me to shut up.

I closed my mouth, a bit taken aback. I waited for you to speak, but you didn't. The smile on my face faded as silence fell once again.

You coughed slightly again, and I looked up at you. You raised your eyebrows at me.

"So are you gonna get drinks or what?" you shrugged, glancing at the coffee counter, then back at me, that expectant look on your face once more.

"I...uh...yeah, of course," I stammered, getting to my feet clumsily and shuffling round the table, trying to ignore the fact that you were looking at me as if I was some kind of servant.

 _It's fine, just go with it, he's probably only joking around,_ I told myself, _try to lighten the mood. Wait, I know what'll work. There's one thing about you that can't have changed._

"Hot chocolate, right?" I grinned, shooting you finger guns and heading towards the counter.

"No," you said shortly, causing me to stop in my tracks and wheel round. "Coffee. Black, no sugar."

I opened my mouth to say something, but you'd already looked away from me.

 _What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?_ As I waited the queue, I tried to get my head around what the hell was with you. I mean, I probably would've offered to pay for the drinks anyway, and it's not like they cost much, but, like, the fact that you'd just expected me to get stuff for you like that kinda annoyed me. And also, why didn't you want hot chocolate? You loved hot chocolate, it was like your favourite thing in the world, and now you're drinking coffee?

I bought it anyway, though. For myself, I got this big creamy chocolatey milkshake thing with a fuck load of whipped cream on top, because I figured I might as well. The drink was beginning to look like the only thing I'd enjoy about our little meet-up.

Making my way back to the table, I decided to try my best to not let any of that bother me. Maybe you were just having a bad day, or you were tired, or both. I gotta cut you a bit of slack, this was a bit of a strange situation for both of us.

I sat back down, placing your coffee in front of you and smiling. You didn't even look at me, just picked up the mug and sipped at it.

A little shot of annoyance flared up inside me. A simple _thank you_ would have been nice.

 _Okay, don't worry, just get a conversation going._ I took a swig of my milkshake and a deep breath. "Uh...you look...different."

You glanced up and touched your hair, which was still baffling me, putting your coffee down and folding your arms again. "I know."

 _Oh come on, throw me a fucking bone._ "So...you lost weight?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I'm not an ugly fat kid anymore," you stated, holding your head a little higher.

It was weird, when you said that, I felt this pang of hurt. I loved that so-called ugly fat kid. At least he'd been beautiful on the inside. "Nah, don't say stuff like that," I said as brightly as I could, waving a hand at you. "You seem well, though."

"I am."

"Good, that's good." I shifted in my seat, trying desperately to think of something more to say. "I heard you made a record?"

"Uh huh. It's called Soul Punk, it's a full-length album. I got it released by a major label, they really liked it," you said, a little haughtily if I'm honest. "So what've you been doing?"

The way you were looking at me made me want to squirm. It was a mixture of smug and bored. "I, uh, well I've been doing this band thing called Black Cards, I write some lyrics for that, which is fun, and-"

"Released anything yet?" You raised an eyebrow at me.

"No, no, not yet, but-"

You snorted. "Really? After this long? Wow..." you trailed off, your gaze drifting to the window.

I frowned at you, shock running through me and irritation following swiftly after. _Excuse me? Just because you've released stuff and we haven't, doesn't make you fucking better than us._

I took another gulp of my drink, to stop myself from spitting flames at you. I could feel your eyes on me as I slurped at the cream. When I finally decided I was ready to delve back into the train wreck that was this conversation, I raised my head, wiping my mouth to get rid of the cream moustache. You wrinkled your nose.

"You know, those things are very unhealthy," you sneered, before sipping at your coffee again.

Frowning again, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I just grabbed the milkshake and downed the whole thing in one, as a form of protest. I placed the empty glass back on the table with a crack. You watched me with disgust.

And that was pretty much when I decided to stop caring about you altogether. You were treating me like absolute shit. What the fuck has happened to you? When did you decide to become such a dick? Did that fucking stupid hair dye mess with your brain?

Yay, you lost weight, congratu-fucking-lations, but what else did you lose? Your fucking _manners?_ The Patrick I knew would never dream of not saying please and thank you, would try his best to smile and be kind and polite. And that was what I'd been counting on, that fact that even though we've both moved on, and both changed, we'd be able to talk. I'd been so interested in how you'd been, what you'd been doing, yet you didn't give two shits about me. Your gorgeous smiles had turned to smug smirks, your beautiful blue-eyed gaze to a cold, dead stare.

The rest of the morning seemed to drag on forever. We talked a little, about where we were living and stuff, and I discovered that your house is a lot bigger and more impressive than mine and that the value of my place has probably gone down in the last few years. What are you, a fucking estate agent?

We didn't end up getting lunch, thank god. Coffee was painful enough. Every word you said made my skin crawl, you spent the whole time looking down your nose at me like I was a nasty something that'd been left on your lawn. It would've hurt if I'd have cared.

Finally, _finally,_ you looked at your watch, and obviously decided you had more important places to be.

"Well, I'd better be going," you huffed shortly, stirring in your seat. "It was nice seeing you."

 _I bet it fucking was._ "Uh...yeah, you too."

You shrugged your jacket on, brushing the sleeves down as if trying to cleanse yourself of this whole conversation. You still had that bored look on your face.

I resisted the urge to give you a slap. I had to be the better person in this situation, take the higher ground. "I guess I'll see you round," I said, which was code for _never again,_ "good luck with the record and the tour and stuff. Say hi to your girlfriend for me."

You nodded at me, getting to your feet. "She's actually my fiancée now," you stated, as if I was stupid for not knowing that.

"Oh, okay, wow, uh..." I stammered, taking in this new information. You hadn't mentioned that in your little bragging session. "Congratulations, dude."

"You won't be invited to the wedding. Close friends and family only," you drawled at me. 

 _Oh, god, can somebody please get me out of here._ "Uh...okay, that's fine." As if I'd want to go to your wedding anyway.

You made to leave, and I got ready to celebrate, when you turned back to me. "Oh, by the way, I've got a show here in L.A. in a week or so, at the venue down the road. It sold out, like, straight away, obviously, but I've got some spare tickets." You reached into your jacket and pulled out two paper rectangles, throwing them down on the table.

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"Just don't come see me after the show, there's usually heaps of fans," you boasted. 

"Is there. Well that's great." I didn't even bother to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

"Yeah, loads. Anyway, come if you want, bring your other half, if you have one. Do you...have one?" you asked, raising your eyebrows at me.

"No. No I don't," I said, and you gave me this _aww you sad lonely loser I feel so sorry for you_ look. You opened your mouth to say something, but I cut you off. I couldn't take any more of your snide comments. "Bye, Patrick," I said, mustering the last bit of energy I could to smile at you. You didn't return the gesture. I gulped down a bitter laugh, looking down at the tickets still lying on the table.

By the time I looked back up, you'd already gone.

-

So that's that.

I came all this fucking way for _that._

You know what, I wish we'd never met up at all. Then I could've kept my image of you as it had been before; the soft-spoken, sweet boy with the hats and the glasses. The one who'd hold doors open for people and smile at strangers. Now when I think of you, all I see is this new, haughty blond dude who treats me like dirt.

I didn't force you to meet up with me. You could've easily said no. Which means that you deliberately arranged this in order to brag to me about your fucking fantastic new life and make me buy you coffee and feel like shit. And that makes you one hell of an asshole.

I mean, I guess I'm happy for you. You seem fine, with your record and your house and your girlfriend, sorry, _fiancée,_ so well done you. You won whatever game you seemed to be playing against me. I wanted you to be happy, and you are.

The only good thing that's come from all this is that I know for certain that I'm over you. Like, I guess I was certain already, but there's always that little feeling like _what if he's still attractive, what if I fall for him all over again,_ especially as I'm single and therefore more susceptible to that kind of stuff. But I felt nothing for you. I guess you're pretty on the outside, but you're ugly as fuck on the inside. 

I'm lying on the hotel bed at the moment. It's my last night here, I'm going back to Chicago tomorrow. Well, technically the day after, but it's an early flight, like five o'clock in the morning or some shit. I'm gonna leave this bit of the city and spend tomorrow exploring the Venice Boardwalk and stuff before my flight, so it should be fun. I wanna kinda forget today happened.

Those tickets you gave me are on the bedside table. I'm not going to your show, so sorry and everything, but I really couldn't care less. It seemed a waste to just throw them away, though. Maybe I'll stop by your house tomorrow and leave them torn up on your doorstep. No, no I won't do that. That sounds like something old Pete would do. I'll post them through your letter box or something, you can give them to someone else. I'm sure there's some adoring fans who would kill for those tickets, seeing as they all love you so much.

In the meantime, I'm gonna go back to my worthless house and my unhealthy milkshakes and feel pretty good about myself for getting through that conversation. 

Anyway, I guess that's it. I'm sorry you're such a dickhead. I wish you and your fiancée all the best, and I hope never to see you again.

You're an insult to your past self.

Yours sincerely,

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III


	44. Chapter 44

 

To Patrick.

Uh...okay.

I don't really know what to write, to be honest. Hell, I don't even know what to fucking _feel_.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. I didn't mean for things to happen like this, this shouldn't be how it ends. 

Oh god, Patrick.

-

Right, okay, so when I left off, I'd decided to give those tickets back to you. I sure as hell wasn't gonna go to your show, I didn't wanna really see you ever again. It wasn't that I hated you or anything, it wasn't as strong as that, it was more just indifference. You'd turned into such a dick that I really didn't care about you, and I felt kinda good about that, I guess. I feel like when you can genuinely say that you're indifferent to someone you used to love, you know you're actually completely over them.

I was so ready to just fly off back to Chicago and forget about you.

And that's where I was headed, the airport, with bags packed and passport safe and sound, nestled in the back of a cab. But I'd asked the driver if we could make a stop along the way.

Joe'd given me your new address, and it was actually quite a big detour to make, so the driver was a bit pissed. I don't know why, it meant he made more money off me.

Anyway, I knew we were nearly there 'cause we were off the main road and twisting through the suburbs.

My god, the houses were amazing. Like, they all had probably three or four stories, and more expensive-looking cars outside than anyone could need. I couldn't help but be a bit disgusted at the materialism of it all, and I felt that little shot of dislike that I'd experienced during that stupid coffee-shop meeting. _Ugh._ _Of course perfect Patrick lives in a perfect house._

We kept driving, though, through the streets of huge houses, until the car stopped at the entrance of a long driveway. This was it, this was your place.

I pulled the tickets out of my bag and scrambled out the car.

"Thanks. I'll be back in, like, two seconds," I said to the driver, who nodded and sat back in his seat.

Seeing as he seemed not to like me anyway, I decided to be as quick as I could. I hurried down your drive, and round the sharp corner, I turned and saw your house.

It was just like all the others. Big floor to ceiling windows made it gleam in the sunlight, balconies running round the outside of it like bracelets. A shining black Mercedes sat smugly in the drive, as if to say _look how much money I have,_ and I felt myself getting even more irritated. Perfectly laid paving slabs led up to your front door.

The thought of ripping up the tickets did cross my mind again, but I couldn't let you get to me. This was the last time I'd get anywhere near you, I had to be civil.

I decided to just dump them and run. The cab driver was probably annoyed at me already. I got to your door and stooped down to shove the tickets through your letter box.

But your door was open.

When I leant on it, it swung inwards, causing me to stumble forwards and yelp in surprise. _What the fuck?_

The tickets never made it through the letter box and stayed clenched in my hand as I stood on the threshold of your house. _Why is your door open? What the hell do I do?_

My first thought was to just drop the tickets and leave. But then, I felt worry shoot through me as I wondered whether maybe someone had broken in. A house like this, there's gotta be lots to steal. And I guess I was also a tiny bit curious as to what your place was like on the inside.

Stepping inside carefully, I shut the door behind me, wandering through the spotless hallway. The corridor opened out into this huge kitchen and lounge thing, with big sofas and a huge TV. On the other side of the room, a spiral staircase wound upwards. I gazed about in awe.

But then I remembered why I was here. "Hello?" I shouted, hoping to let any burglars know that I was not to be messed with.

Looking around, though, nothing seemed to have been taken. The speakers dotted around the room seemed untouched, there was a laptop placed neatly on the kitchen counter. _Hmm. Okay._

I was just about to turn around and stop snooping round a stranger's house, when I felt myself step on something. Moving my foot, I saw that it was a keyring, with a few keys attached. They looked like a normal bunch of someone's house keys. _But why are they on the floor?_

There was probably countless explanations as to why they were there. Maybe you just dropped them. But there was something about this whole place which didn't feel quite right.

When I'd lived with you, in fact, ever since I'd known you, you'd been probably one of the messiest people I'd ever met. You'd never put stuff away, you'd never tidy up after yourself, your flat would have records and piles of paper and various instruments lying all over the place. But this house was spotless. Everything seemed to have an exact location; the bookshelf was neatly stacked, the remote controls all lined up on the coffee table, the fruit piled perfectly in a bowl on the counter. This wasn't you. Something was wrong.

Across the room, I saw something dark on the floor, and freaked out a bit. It was very very silent in your house, and it made me anxious. You obviously weren't in, I couldn't hear any movement aside from my own breathing.

Walking slowly over to the shape, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was just a jacket. A nice jacket, too. In fact, I recognised it as the one you'd worn yesterday. But it was all crumpled up. With that and the keys, I began to feel a bit worried.

I wondered if maybe something had happened to you. Like, maybe it wasn't a burglar, maybe it was a murderer, maybe you'd been hurt or I'd turn a corner and find your bleeding corpse lying in front of me. There didn't seem to be any sign of a struggle, though. I felt like a detective as I crept across your lounge, heading for the staircase. I'd look upstairs, and if I couldn't find you, I'd leave. _Okay, I have a plan._

Looking behind me to check that there was no-one about to grab me, I started up the stairs, which led to a sun-bathed landing with some doors leading off it. _Holy fuck, his house is nice._

It still didn't look like anything had been taken. The doors to the various bedrooms and bathrooms were open, all neat and tidy like it had been downstairs. I still had that weird feeling, though. This picture doesn't quite fit together.

"Patrick?" I called out, not sure if I wanted an answer. None came, though.

I put the keys and the tickets on the landing window sill, so that I had full use of my hands if someone attacked me.

Padding carefully down the hall, I peeked inside every room, just to be sure, looking for something that might indicate what the hell was going on. There was nothing. Everything was perfect, the rooms light and airy. And somehow, it made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Still, it didn't look like your house had been broken into. I couldn't find any crazed psychopaths, there was no scratches on the walls or blood on the floor. Maybe you'd just gone out and forgot to lock the door or something. I decided that this was stupid; I shouldn't have come in here, I should've just left and not given you a second thought. I started to turn around, heading back to the stairs.

Then, at the end of the corridor, I saw the only door in the house that was shut.

I don't know why, but I felt compelled to go open it. Just to see, y'know, just in case. I wasn't snooping, just checking. I may as well do a full sweep of the whole house.

Marching back down the corridor, I reached the door, ready to open it, see that it was the same as all the other rooms, and leave. But, I dunno, as I grabbed the handle and slowly twisted it, I had that weird feeling again, like something was wrong. And I was so right.

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

I only opened the door a crack, but as soon as I did, this musky stench hit me like a brick. And oh god, I knew it all too well.

Feeling my insides tighten, I swallowed quickly to stop myself throwing up. 

The second thing I noticed was that it was completely dark. The hairs on my arms stood on end, but I took a deep breath and swung the door fully open.

The light from the landing flooded into the room, cutting through the darkness. My eyes widened.

It was another bedroom. But it wasn't neat like the others. The covers were spilling all over the place in a mess, the pillows strewn on various corners of the mattress. Clothes and shoes littered the floor, lying like corpses in toppling piles. But it wasn't the bed or the mess that made my blood run cold. It was the bottles.

I don't know how many there were. All I know is that they covered the floor, glittering at me in the light, tall ones and stout ones and the odd crumpled can. _No. Please god no._

My mouth hung open as I stared around at the carnage, my stomach twisting as I took it all in.

Then, as I looked again, I saw one other thing the light had fallen on.

In the corner of the room, against the wall and underneath the curtain, there was a man, lying limply on his side, his eyes closed and his body unmoving. He had bright blond hair and high cheekbones. His outstretched hand was clasped tightly around the neck of a bottle of vodka.

_No._

It took me a while to convince myself this was happening. It couldn't be you, this wasn't real, this had to be some kind of a joke. But the way the stench sunk through to bad memories and the bottles glinted like they were greeting an old friend told me that this was completely and horrifyingly real.

My feet felt heavy as I began to pick my way across the room, hearing the clink of bottles as my shoes touched them. I didn't want to look at them, I could already taste bile at the back of my throat.

I carefully knelt down next to your body, and felt a little wave of relief when I saw your chest moving slowly in and out.

"Patrick?" I said softly, giving your shoulder a small shake. You didn't move.

I think I already knew, though, that you weren't just asleep. Your breath stank of liquor, you were in the same clothes as you had been yesterday. You'd drunk yourself out of consciousness.

Pity swept through me when I looked at you. I knew what it was like to just drink until you forgot everything, what it was like to wake up on the floor, surrounded by bottles. I just never thought it would happen to you.

Very gently, I picked up your wrist, checking your pulse was okay, making sure you were gonna wake up. Then, I prised your delicate fingers from the bottle, shoving it away from me like it was diseased.

I didn't really know what to do then.

It still hadn't really sunk in, to be honest. This couldn't be you. You couldn't have ended up like this, you just couldn't.

I knew you were an asshole. I knew I shouldn't care about you in the slightest. But the thing is, I'd never wish this on anyone. Running my fingers through my hair, I put my head in my hands, feeling a weird mix of sympathy and disgust. You're an alcoholic. My sweet, kind Patrick has become a rude, arrogant drunk.

I should have left. I should have stood up, walked out and left you there. You weren't my problem anymore. It didn't matter to me what you'd done to yourself.

But looking at you, I couldn't do that. It wasn't right for me to just leave someone like this. Leaving would just make me as big a dickhead as you. Also, I wanted to know how you'd got like this, how the person who'd told me over and over that I didn't need alcohol was now filled with it.

So, as gently as I could, I slid my hands underneath you, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your shoulders, and slowly lifted you up, taking you over to the bed. The covers were still all messed up, so I had to awkwardly try and hold onto you whilst pushing them back.

Eventually, I exposed about half the bed, and lowered your small frame down onto it. Taking my hands out from underneath you, I moved your sprawled arms and placed them on your stomach, before taking off your shiny black shoes and putting them neatly on the floor.

Rifling though the mass of duvet, I found a pillow, and another one, 'cause I know you like two, and carefully lifted your head, wedging the pillows underneath it. You sighed slightly in your sleep, shifting a little before going still again. 

Finally, I straightened out the duvet and laid it over you, so that only your face was showing. Without the bottle in your hand, you looked quite peaceful, and I could pretend that none of this had happened.

But the smell of alcohol and the mess strewn across the floor made this all painfully real. _God, Patrick. What's happened to you?_

Sighing, I pressed my fingers into my eyes, and stared at you for a bit. Then I picked my way out of your room and shut the door behind me.

Well _fuck_.

I breathed out slowly, leaning against the door, thinking through everything. So perfect Patrick wasn't so perfect after all. Maybe this is why you're so horrible now. I wondered whether alcoholism was a good excuse for treating other people like shit. If I'm honest, I don't think it is.

I decided I was gonna stay 'til you woke up, and I could get some kind of answers from you. Maybe shout at you for a bit 'til you realised you'd got a problem. That's the thing with alcoholics, they can't even admit it to themselves, so they never do anything about it. I know I couldn't. And looking at your house, the way you hid everything from view, you definitely didn't want anyone else to know. 

I guess my thinking was that if I could try to talk some sense to you, the asshole I couldn't stand, even if it was just for five minutes, then I truly was an alright person, and all that time staring at the bottom of a glass might be put to some use.

Caught in my thoughts, I looked over to the window, where the tickets and your keys were still laying. You must've stumbled through the door and dropped everything to get to your poison. Then I remembered the cab. _Oh, shit,_ _the cab._

Rushing back down the stairs and flying across the lounge, I wondered what the hell I was gonna say to the driver, what excuse I could make for being this long. I needn't have wondered, though.

When I yanked open your front door, my bags were sitting on the porch, at odd angles like they'd been thrown down. I groaned. I fucking knew that driver didn't like me. _Great._ Now I had no option but to stay here.

Trawling back inside your house with my stuff, I shut the door behind me, wondering how the hell I'd managed to walk into a situation like this.

I cast a glance up towards the ceiling, above which you were still sleeping, and sighed shortly. Now all that was left to do was wait.

-

An hour and a bit later, I was sitting on your sofa, laptop propped on my knees, having probably made myself more at home than was really polite. But it's not like you care about manners anyway.

I was listening to your record, actually. I don't really know why, I guess I was just curious. A copy of it had been lying on your shelf of CDs, and it looked interesting, so I booted up the stereo and played it.

I hadn't really thought about what the hell your stuff would sound like, and I hadn't really cared, but it was way different than I would've imagined. Like, kinda electronic-y and with a fuck load of synths and things. As much as I tried to hate it, it was sorta good. And I gotta say, your voice is, like...wow. I'd forgotten.

It was kinda weird, though, because the person singing all these songs didn't sound like the asshole I'd met in the coffee shop; there were ones about compassion and being yourself and stuff, and not giving up. When I heard them, I heard the boy I'd fallen in love with.

I did wonder whether any of the songs were about me. There was this one I found on YouTube called _Love, Selfish Love_ which I was a bit uncomfortable about. Then I guess maybe that one that goes _everybody wants somebody who doesn't want them_ could refer to me. But there was never a time when I didn't want you. I only didn't want you to get hurt.

Anyway, with your record playing in the background, I got nosey about what you'd been doing, and spent some time snooping around the internet. It was weird seeing you performing by yourself on stage. You played drums and trumpets and all sorts, then when you sang you'd get so into it, bouncing up and down like a jack-in-the-box. I had to keep reminding myself how horrible you were to me in order to stop myself enjoying it.

I'd just about forgotten I was even in your house when I heard footsteps through the ceiling.

 _Shit._ I hadn't actually thought about what would happen when you woke up. _What do I even say to you?_

Closing my laptop, I held my breath as the footsteps got louder, starting down the stairs. Your record was still playing, for the second or third time, 'cause one listen is never enough, and I debated whether to get up and turn it off or not. But my legs didn't seem to want to move, so I just sat there like a lemon.

Suddenly, you stumbled into view, holding tightly on to the bannister and taking the steps one at a time. Your other hand was clutched to your head.

You didn't see me at first. You headed straight for the kitchen, steadying yourself on the counter as you reached for one of the cupboards. I saw your hands shaking as you tried to take what I assumed was aspirin, leaning heavily against the worktop with your head bent low. 

I opened my mouth to say something, but words evaded me. Instead, I managed to regain control of my limbs and stood up, coughing slightly.

You whipped round, eyes wild and eyebrows raised.

Your stare locked upon me.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaimed, your mouth hanging open in shock.

I swallowed quickly. "I...uh..."

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?!"

I blinked at you, trying to find some kind of words.

Your shrieks sunk to a low growl. "I said, _what the fuck are you doing in my house_?" You took a step towards me.

I tried to keep my cool, though. "I'm sorry, it's just I came to drop the tickets back and the door was open and I was worried someone might've broken in so I just wanted to check everything was okay."

You shot me a confused scowl, like I'd just told you I'd teleported here from Narnia.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have come but I-"

"Get out," you snarled, your jaw set.

"I-"

"GET OUT!" you roared, hands curling into fists.

I jumped, taking a step back and looking at you in shock. Never in my life had I heard you shout like that.

Your glare tore through me, your blue eyes cold as steel and your nostrils flared.

But I decided I had to stand my ground. "Patrick, are you alright?" I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"What?" you snapped, tilting your head to the side with a hint of threat.

I wasn't gonna let you make me feel like shit again, though. Folding my arms, I spoke calmly and slowly, "well, as I said, I wanted to see if you were okay, so I looked around for you. Upstairs."

You froze. "What?"

I took a deep breath. "Patrick, are you an alcoholic?"

Your lips parted, horror seeping into your eyes. The gaze you'd held for a long time faltered, flicking down to the floor. Running your fingers through your hair, you turned away from me, your breaths heavy.

I watched you, feeling a little pang of pity. I know what it's like to get found out.

Walking around the sofa, I moved towards you, watching you press your hands into your eyes. Maybe if I could comfort you a bit, you'd open up to me and stop being like this. I reached my hand out and gave your shoulder a little squeeze. You flinched away from me, though.

"Don't fucking touch me," you hissed, glaring at me with disgust. _Nope, he's still an asshole._

Sighing, I held my hands up and stepped away from you. "Look, I only wanted to help, you don't have to be a dick about it."

"Help? _Help?_ How the hell has any of this helped? You've no right to be here!" You were yelling again.

"Hey, you left the door wide open! What happened, did you spend the night getting smashed in some bar? How much did you drink?" I was nearly yelling too.

"That's none of your fucking business!"

"Patrick, I found you knocked out on the floor. Your bedroom is filled with bottles, you fucking stink of liquor. What the hell has happened to you?!"

You flexed your jaw. "Don't act like you care," you spat.

That irritation I'd felt yesterday flared up again. "Listen to me, Patrick, I-"

"No, you listen to me. Get out of my house."

You said it with such finality that I couldn't think of a reply.

"Why the hell is _this_ on?" you asked suddenly, raising your head and looking around. I didn't know what you were talking about until you marched past me, towards the stereo, and slammed the CD drawer thing open. The music stopped abruptly, interrupting that song about things getting better, and you pulled the disc out, throwing it down on the coffee table.

I pursed my lips. I wasn't leaving 'til you gave me some fucking answers.

"Patrick, why're you acting like this? When did you start drinking?"

"Fuck off."

I took a couple steps towards you. "No. Tell me."

You raised your head and folded your arms, "I told you to _fuck off_."

I took another couple steps. We were now about a foot apart, staring each other down. "Tell me," I growled.

"Or what?" you hissed, "what are you gonna do? Hit me? I'd like to see you fucking try. I'm not twenty-two anymore."

My eyes widened. Your words were sharp as knives, stirring up old guilt, making my chest tighten and my stomach squirm. I backed down, stepping away from you. _Okay. You win._

Softening my gaze and my words, I tried a different approach. "Please, Patrick. Please, just tell me truthfully, what's happened to you? If you tell me, I'll leave, I promise."

I gave you a look of pleading, and for one, tiny second, I thought I saw a flicker of warmth return to your eyes, before the ice chased it away. You huffed shortly, sticking out your jaw and unfolding your arms. "Fine. Fucking fine. I'll tell you what happened to me."

Debating whether to sit down or not, I motioned towards the sofa, so that we could make this into a vaguely civilised conversation, but you didn't move. I resorted to leaning against the arm of the couch, looking at you with anxious expectation.

You thought for a bit, probably wondering where to start.

Then, you locked your gaze with mine. "Do you have any idea what you did to me when you left?"

I just kept on staring.

Your voice shook as you spoke. "You broke me. That morning, when I woke up and you weren't there, I just...I couldn't do it. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I didn't talk to anyone. And the way you took everything, deleted your fucking phone number and all the pictures as if you'd never even existed at all, as if you wanted to forget our entire fucking relationship, forget me, it...it tore me to pieces."

"Well I just thought-" I started, in an attempt to defend myself.

"No! It was like you'd erased years of my life, I had nothing! You had no right to take that from me, I needed something to remember you by, something to tell me that you'd loved me, that _someone_ had loved me! It was like you were _ashamed_ of me, like I was just a regret, nothing more than a fucking mistake!" you yelled, your voice becoming frantic.

I was about to say something, apologise or make some kind of excuse, but you carried on before I could.

"I lay in that fucking hotel bed for days. I just wanted to die, more than anything. Didn't wanna ever go back out into the world, didn't think I could.

"And d'you know what the worst part was? You fucking gave up on me. After everything I'd done for you. I took all your fucking punches, your insults that made me cry, I hid bruises and faked smiles for you, because I knew that you could get better. You beat me up, you humiliated me over and over, you kept on hurting me and I just took it. I was so fucking scared of you, there were times I thought you'd end up killing me, but I knew if I stuck with you, if I helped you, then you could be a better person, and I was right! You did get better, and it made me so fucking happy, and I thought all the pain had been worth it.

"I figured you'd return the favour. I knew I was getting worse, I knew my mental health was declining, but the one thing that kept me going was the fact that you were there, beside me, to help me through it all. But you fucking _gave up!_ I'd given you so much, and you just left me to rot.

"It tore me apart. The person I'd been certain would always believe in me, would always fight for me even when I wasn't fighting for myself, walked away from me. If you didn't think I could get better, then that was it. I was a fucking lost cause. You convinced me I was completely worthless."

You paused for a second, your stony gaze settling on the floor. Swallowing slowly, you took a deep breath.

"So I gave up. They wouldn't let me call you, they wouldn't tell me where you'd gone, they just said you weren't coming back. I loved you so much. There was no me without you. So when they finally got me out of the hotel and back on the bus, I...I found a bottle of Joe's painkillers, y'know the ones he takes for his back?"

My stomach twisted. I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, those. I swallowed every single one. And it hurt so fucking much. It was like my insides were on fire, and I thought I'd done it this time, I thought this was it, this final bit of pain, then peace. But it didn't work. I threw them all up, all of them, I couldn't stop myself. For days after, my body ached and my throat burned. Those were some of the worst hours of my life, mostly because I knew it wasn't over, I still had to drag myself through each fucking second of it. I couldn't believe the pills hadn't worked. Pills always work, right?"

You looked at me, as if for an answer, and the numb sadness in your eyes nearly brought tears to mine. I gulped. "Joe – Joe never told me that...that – what you did."

You smiled bitterly. "Joe never knew. No-one ever knew."

 _Shit._ I stayed silent, waiting for you to carry on.

Folding your arms again, you exhaled shortly. "Anyway, after that, things seemed different. I kept wondering why, after two tries, I hadn't died. I wasn't brave enough to put a gun to my head, or jump off a roof, so I just had to carry on. And after a while, I started to think that maybe there was a reason I was still alive. Like maybe I could get better, maybe I was meant to do something more with my life.

"So I started to try. It was so hard at first, to stop thinking how I was thinking, but people helped. Joe and Andy kept visiting, they tried to stop me thinking about you. For the first few months, though, you were all I could think about. Not waking up with you beside me, not having anyone to hold me or kiss me, it killed me all over again. 

"But I got through it. I started to think maybe I didn't need you, maybe I could be just as happy by myself, and d'you know what, I fucking was! I managed to lose all that fucking weight, I felt so much better about being myself, I made the music I wanted to make, I made videos and did talk shows and toured around the world, I made a load of new friends, and I was doing fine! For the first time, I actually felt pretty confident, I proved you wrong, I got over you. And I did it all without you," you said proudly, determination sparking in your eyes.

Then the spark died. Your expression sunk into that cold glare, but this time, it wasn't directed at me. You walked over to the coffee table and picked up the CD, turning it over and over in your hands. As you spoke, your voice began to crack.

"I put everything into this record. I wanted it to be perfect, I wanted to do it all by myself, so I poured every last drop of energy into it, spent weeks on end just trying to get one little section right, and...and I thought they'd like it. I liked it, I thought it was good, it was the best I could do...but it wasn't enough.

"It didn't go how I thought it would. They fucking hated it. It was just like Folie, only this time it was just me they needed to send the fucking hate-mail to. People would turn up to the shows just to scream insults at me, _we liked you better_ fucking _fat!"_ Your voice became shrill and shaky, and a sob ran through it.

"I couldn't take it, it was just like last time, and I was so scared of going back there, I couldn't go back to where I was before! It got so many bad reviews, people would tell me to go back to the band, was better with them, or to...to just give up altogether...and I...and I just..." you faltered, and as you blinked, tears fell from your eyes.

Biting my lip, I watched you break down, knotting my fingers together and trying to think of something to say. "Hey, Patrick, don't cry, I -"

"I'm not fucking crying!" you screamed, furiously wiping your eyes and breathing heavily. "I can't take this anymore! The only way I can stop myself going back to what I was is by drinking, so now I'm a sad, lonely alcoholic who's made nothing of his life! It's all shit, I wasted all my time making shit that no-one cares about!" You bellowed, before looking down at the disc in your hands.

With a distraught cry, you hurled it away from you. It hit the wall with a crack and fell to the floor, shattering into little pieces.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this, I wasn't meant to end up like this! I saw what it did to you, and I thought it would never happen to me, but it fucking did! And the worst part is, I can't even blame it on the fucking break-up! I'm not hung up on you, or anyone else, it's me that did this, and I hate it! I hate living out of bottles, I hate having to lie to everyone, I hate living two lives like this! I'm not broken-hearted anymore, I'm just fucking broken!"

Your yells echoed around the house, and my head. "Wait, so...no-one else knows about this?"

"Of course not!"

"Not even your fiancée?" I frowned.

You stared at me for a bit, before spitting out a bitter laugh. "Ha! You really believed that? I don't have a fucking fiancée, who would wanna date me for fuck's sake?"

"That – that was a lie?"

"Yeah, it's funny, if other people think you have someone, they don't worry about you. No-one else can know about this, you hear me, no-one! I can't take people knowing!"

"God, I'm sorry, I-"

"No! Shut the fuck up! I don't want your fucking sympathy! Why did you even wanna see me anyway? I don't hear anything from you for two years and the suddenly it's _hey Patrick, wanna meet up sometime?_ Where the fuck did that come from?"

"I wanted to see you, I really did," I said honestly. That little bit of warmth touched your teary eyes again, but as soon as I saw it it was gone.

"Well, congratulations. You saw me," you sighed, the anger in your voice starting to flag.

"Patrick, I-"

"No, Pete. Just leave," you finished.

"But-"

"Get the fuck out of my house."

The look in your eyes was one of pained hatred, and it bored into me like a drill. _Holy shit. I gotta go._

I gathered my things, grabbing my laptop off the table and trying to put my shoes on as quickly as possible. My bags were bundled in my arms as I walked towards the door.

You didn't move, just watched me.

I turned back to you, trying to think of something to say, _I hope you get better_ or _I hope you find someone,_ but the look in your eyes told me to keep my mouth shut.

Opening the front door, I pushed through it, and for one, last second, our gazes locked. There were still tears running down your face, your eyes red round the edges and dead in the middle. Then you bowed your head, and walked off out of sight.

I shut the door.

_What the fuck just happened?_

The cool late afternoon air did nothing to clear my thoughts.

-

They still haven't cleared, really. I managed to get a cab on the main road near your place, I'm heading to the airport. My writing's kinda shaky from the movement of the car, but then I have a feeling it would be shaky anyway.

I don't know what to do, really. I guess the obvious option is to just keep not caring and forget about you. But I think that's the problem. I _do_ care about you, as much as I've tried not to. You're going through what I went through, I can't help but feel empathy.

Though, it doesn't really change the fact that you were an asshole. What were you hoping to achieve with that little coffee shop stunt? I can't get that look of disgust on your face as you stared at me out of my head. I mean, the arrogance must've been a bluff, but everything else was just plain rude. It's like the drink has washed away everything you used to be.

You _hated_ me. I hadn't been prepared for that. Apathy I could deal with, but the way you shouted at me earlier, wow. I'd never seen you that angry before. And I never wanted you to hate me.

But with everything you'd been through, maybe I deserve to be hated. You'd attempted suicide, for god's sake, all because I left.

Although, hadn't you got better? Hadn't you got through it, got more confident, made a record, done your own thing? And isn't that exactly why I left in the first place, so you'd do all those things? I mean, yeah, you've turned to alcohol now, but that wasn't because of me, it was 'cause you were scared of going back to how you were. But you _won't_ go back to what you were, because you already took that step, got the independence you needed all along. All you gotta do is realise that.

I know what you're doing now. A traumatic experience like that, you'll be drinking. I don't want you to drink. I think I do care, actually. Not as much as I would if you were nice, but enough. Enough to realise that maybe I should try to help.

I also realised that I didn't even ask you the things I should have. I don't know how much you've been drinking, or for how long, I should've at least tried to work out how bad you are. If I'm the only one who knows about this, don't I have to do something about it? You're not gonna tell anyone else, and it's not my place to, so one of us has to try. And god knows I've got quite a lot of experience in this department.

I could forget about you. Or I could help. 

We're not far from the airport now. Another half-hour, and we'll be there. The sky is streaked with orange and pink, the city starting to light up.

All I can think about is the boy I loved, the kindness he showed when it was me who drank myself unconscious every night, when he held me close and caught my tears. Maybe I owe it to him to not give up on you. 

That's why I gotta do this. Not for you. For him.

This shouldn't be how the story ends. 

I gotta go back.

Pete. 


	45. Chapter 45

Dear Patrick,

It was nearly dark when I arrived at your house.

I'd been about fifteen minutes from the airport when I practically yelled at the driver to turn round and go back.

He was kinda shocked, but he did it anyway, swinging the car around and back along the sunset-streaked coast. I didn't know how to answer when he asked me why, so I just took the opportunity to pretend I was in an action movie and said _there's something I gotta do._

I think that was when I started to freak out a little bit. I mean, you'd literally told me to fuck off, out of your house and your life. What the hell was I doing going back? You might not even let me in.

Also, why did I even want to subject myself to your company? Neither of the last times we'd met had been pleasant at all; the first time, you'd been an asshole, and the second time, you'd been an asshole with an explanation.

But that explanation made me care. Seeing things from your point of view, that was kinda rough, if I'm honest. You might be a dick, but at least now I know why. And, if I didn't try to help, I just know I'd have felt bad about it later on. If I can help a person I can't stand, then I can help anyone.

I don't really know what I'd planned to do; I guess the goal was to turn up and try to stop you drinking, if only for one night. Give you some advice, maybe, give you some numbers of some rehab centres, or convince you to tell someone else and take the weight off of me. There was also this one part of me that was worried you might have drunk yourself into oblivion after you spilled everything to me.

That's probably the best way of putting it. I was worried about you. If you ended up in hospital or homeless or dead because of drink, and I was the only other person who knew, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for not at least trying to help.

But it didn't really seem like I'd thought it through when I realised I had nowhere to stay the night if you didn't let me in, and if you did, I'd probably miss my flight the next day. I had no idea how long this was gonna take because I had no idea how I was even gonna help you, seeing as you didn't seem to want my help earlier.

So as I dragged my bags out of the cab and walked down your driveway for the second time that day, I very nearly just turned around and ran off.

I didn't, though. I marched up to the front door and knocked as confidently as I could.

After a couple minutes waiting, with no answer, I knocked again.

Suddenly, there was a loud thumping sound, and then something that sounded like a groan. Footsteps sounded, heavy and erratic.

I grimaced, because I know what those kind of footsteps mean.

The door made little metallic sounds as someone fumbled with the lock, until finally, it opened.

My heart sank when I laid eyes on you. You looked just like I'd dreaded.

You leant heavily against the door, as if your legs wouldn't hold your body up by themselves, and your eyes were glazed and unfocussed. One of your hands clutched at the door, the other held a bottle of vodka.

_Vodka. Again. That can't be good._

It took you a minute to process who I was, by the confused look on your face.

"Pete?" you asked, frowning at me.

I gulped and nodded. "Hey, Patrick," I said, internally bracing myself for more shouting.

You just stared at me, though, your dazed gaze wandering from my suitcase to my knotted fingers to my worried eyes. Then you looked at the bottle in your hand. "I – I'm not drinking," you slurred, hiding it behind your back.

"I know you're drunk, Patrick," I sighed.

Shaking your head, you protested, "No, I'm not...I swear...go away, I don't like you...I'm not."

"I don't like you either, but I gotta help you. I know you're a drinker, you told me, remember?"

You squinted at me, like you were trying to see me from a distance. "But...you should've gone...I made you leave..."

"I know. I came back, I guess," I shrugged, starting to wonder what the hell I was doing.

"No..." you said, looking away from me and shaking your head again. "You weren't supposed to – you – I don't – I'm not drinking!"

Running a hand through my hair, I watched as you ducked your head sheepishly, frowning at the ground. "Hey, I only wanna help. You can't hide this anymore."

"But...you...you left me..." you said, a glazed look on your face.

You began to shut the door, and I dived to stop you, throwing a hand out and a foot over the threshold. "Please, Patrick, please let me in."

Peeking out at me, you chewed on your lips, just like you used to. And with a sigh, you opened the door.

I picked up my bags quickly and shuffled inside, before you changed you mind. Shutting the door behind me, I watched as you turned away from me and stumbled down the hall, towards the lounge. I followed quickly, not really wanting to let you out of my sight in case you did something stupid.

Staggering across the room, you nearly made it to the couch, but your feet had pretty much given up by that point, and your knees buckled, sending you towards the floor. I caught you just in time, though, grabbing your arm and your waist before you could collide with the coffee table.

"Whoa, there, careful," I said as I steadied you, guiding you towards the couch. I expected you to shrug me off, but you let me sit you down without a fight.

Once you were planted firmly in the corner of the sofa, I sat down tentatively at the other end, watching you, wondering when you were gonna start screaming at me again.

But you seemed to exhausted for that; your eyes were half-lidded and your limbs limp. Not limp enough to stop you lifting the bottle to your lips, though.

You took a long swig, closing your eyes and wincing slightly as you swallowed. I realised that I hated seeing you like this. I'd seen you drunk before, but this was way different. There'd always be the odd night that you'd been to some kind of party and had too much to drink, but you'd just get giggly and silly and laugh too hard at things that weren't funny. Now, you were beyond drunk. You reminded me of me, all those years ago. Ugh.

"Listen, Patrick, I need to talk to you, you gotta-"

"I shouldn't be down here," you mused, "I should be upstairs. That way," you paused, dropping your voice to a stage-whisper, "that way no-one knows."

"You can't keep this a secret," I warned, eyeing the bottle in your hand.

"I...no, I have to..."

"How long has this been going on for?" I asked cautiously, sitting forward on the couch.

You screwed up your face and rubbed your eyes. "I don't know...I'm not an alcoholic!" you protested. Immediately after, though, you took another swig.

"Yes, you are, you can't pretend anymore, okay? How much have you had tonight?" I gestured at the bottle.

You followed my gaze and stared at the clear liquid sloshing about. "Uh...just...just this."

I narrowed my eyes. "Really?"

You nodded innocently, and I didn't know whether to believe you or not.

The bottle was probably three-quarters full, so doing some quick booze-math, I worked out that you'd probably had about five or six shots worth. But you were pretty drunk, what with the lack of balance and concentration, so I guess that meant you were still reasonably lightweight. And that's a very good thing. That means you're not dependent, if you were telling the truth.

Bringing your feet up onto the couch, you wrapped your arms around the bottle, holding it close to you like you would a lover. I remember when it was me you'd hold like that.

You started to raise the bottle to your lips again, and I realised I couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop! Please, Patrick, just stop!" I said desperately, lurching towards you and grabbing your arm before your could put any more poison into yourself.

Looking up at me sharply, your stare flitted between my face and my hand on your arm. You made to lift the bottle again, but I put my other hand over the top of it.

"Stop."

The shock in your eyes was replaced by shame. I tugged at the bottle, but you held onto it, wincing as if I was trying to rip off a plaster.

I was sitting close to you now, my knees touching yours and my hand still firmly around your arm. We stared each other down, both gripping the bottle and silently trying to make the other submit.

"Give me the bottle, Patrick," I sighed, like a dad to his kid.

"I can't...I need it..."

"No, you don't."

"You don't understand... I need it," you whined.

"I really do understand. It feels like you need it. But you really, really don't." I gave your arm a little squeeze.

"But I-"

"No," I said firmly. "Patrick, do you understand what alcohol does to you? If you keep on like this, you'll get dependent on it. You'll drink yourself to death."

You glanced away from me, frowning into your lap. I knew this was pointless, 'cause you were drunk and probably wouldn't even remember any of it, but just stopping you taking another gulp of that stuff was worth the effort.

"It'll ruin your voice, you know." You'd always been so careful, so protective of anything to do with your vocal cords. I hated the thought of you losing that wonderful talent.

"Who cares?" you spat, huffing at me. "No-one gives a shit about my voice anymore. I don't...I don't wanna sing."

I frowned at you. "Don't be stupid, that's not true. You gotta take care of that, it's special."

"Shut up, I'm not fucking special. I don't care about...stupid...singing."

Pursing my lips, I resisted the urge to give you a slap. All I could think was, _how dare you?! How dare you think that you can waste something like that, how dare you do that to the boy you used to be?_

"Okay, listen, no more fucking around. You know you can get throat cancer from this stuff?" I said sharply. You raised your head. "Yeah, you heard me. Cancer. You could damage your brain, you could fuck up your liver, you'll send your blood pressure through the roof, you could have a stroke!"

I breathed heavily, and gave you a shake. When I first quit, I'd spent ages on those health websites, scaring myself into never drinking again. Maybe it could work for you.

I tugged at the bottle again. "Please, you can't do this to yourself."

Groaning like a toddler, you shook your head and flopped your legs back down onto the floor, squeezing your eyes shut. "Go away...don't try to help...I went two years without your help..."

"I know, you did great, but-"

"No I didn't. No." You tried to push me away, but I could see the exhaustion seeping through you already. "I need it..."

"You don't, you really-" I started, but you slurred over me.

"I do! I need something...or...or someone..." you trailed off, your gaze wandering into the distance. A glazed expression crept into your face. "D'you know, I haven't had anyone for two years?" You said it like it was an interesting piece of trivia you'd learnt from a documentary.

But it sent a shot of pity through me. "R-really? Nobody? At all?"

You laughed slightly, but it didn't touch your eyes. "Nope. No-one. Isn't that pathetic?" you said, waving a hand.

I didn't know what to say. The reason I was here was to stop you drinking, not to get involved with your personal life, but then _two years?_

"It was fine, at first..." you went on, a bemused smile on your face, "because...I didn't need anyone, I was all...independent. But now..." you tailed off, bowing your head. "Now I...I miss it. I haven't been held by anyone in two years."

 _Shit._ I guess maybe you did have an excuse for being a jerk. When I looked at your sprawled form, I felt that pity again. I know what it's like when the thing you want most in the world is someone else's arms around you.

I felt your grip on the bottle weaken. I let go of your wrist. And, slowly, I pulled the bottle out of your hands, getting up and placing it on the far edge of the coffee table. You didn't put up a fight.

Sitting back down next to you, I gazed sadly at your sleepy blue eyes. They weren't cold anymore, they were just sorta lifeless. And lonely. _Oh, fuck it._

"Come here," I said with a sigh, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

I expected you to protest, to spit flames at me like you'd done earlier. Instead, you looked at my arm around you, then at me, and I saw light touch your eyes, and the shadow of a smile.

Then, you pretty much collapsed into me, curling your arms around my chest and squeezing me tight. Pulling your legs up underneath you, you nestled your head in the crook of my neck, and let your eyes fall shut.

I almost laughed in shock; _what the hell? Are you so drunk that you've forgotten how much you hate me? I thought people were supposed to be_ _even_ _more asshole-y when they're wasted?_

I could smell the liquor on your clothes and in your breath, and it was kinda disgusting, to be honest. It clung to you like a disease. I didn't push you away, though.

Instead, I put my other arm around you too, so that we were pretty much just cuddling on the couch. You let out a little contented humming sound. I used to love it when you did that.

Snuggling closer to me, and holding me tighter, your breaths began to slow, your body relaxing gradually. Before you'd quite passed out, though, you spoke two last words.

"Thank you."

The were so quiet, barely more than a breath, but I heard. I realised they were the first kind words you'd said to me in a while.

I couldn't help but smile a little bit. _But, why are you thanking me? Earlier you wanted to rip my head off. What happened to that arrogant coffee-drinking bastard?_

Blowing your blond hair out of my face, I looked down at you. You were fully asleep now, your chest rising and falling in time with your soft snores. If it wasn't for the smell, I had to admit that you did look kinda cute. Sorta like an angel, with your pink lips and your delicate eyebrows and your thick eyelashes. _No, shut up, he's a dick, remember?_

But the way you hugged me told me that maybe there was something more to this.

Anyway, I didn't really know what to do after that. I shifted about a bit, tugging at one of your arms to see if I could prise them off me, but you'd linked your hands together and pinned me where I was.

So I just sorta sat there, unable to move, unable to do anything at all. My phone was in my bag across the room, so I couldn't even play a few levels of Angry Birds to pass the time. I tried to picture the wikiHow page for what to do when your drunk ex falls asleep on you and holds you hostage on his couch.

I couldn't help thinking what the hell was gonna happen when you woke up. I was convinced you'd just go back to how you were before, and kick me out again. What if you didn't listen to me, what if you didn't stop, what if the next I heard of you was _Fall Out Boy front-man found dead at his home in L.A.?_

Thinking about that made me feel sick. So I just tried not to. Instead, I thought about what I could say to you when you were sober, how else I could convince you. Whether maybe, just maybe, there was something of my Patrick left in you.

As I rubbed slow circles into your back, I began to feel kinda tired too. It wasn't even nine o'clock, but I guess it'd been a weird day. There was nothing else to do but listen to your steady breaths, feel your heart beating in your chest, it was a ready-mix for sleep. So I rested my head lightly on yours, ruffling your hair as I breathed, and let my eyes droop shut.

Your quiet _thank you_ and your warm blue eyes were woven with my dreams.

-

When I woke up, you were gone.

I was pretty confused at first. I thought maybe this whole thing had been a dream, and I'd wake up back in Chicago without an irritating ex-boyfriend to worry about.

But as the room fizzled into focus, I realised I was still in your lounge, lying on your couch, and the events of the night before gradually came back to me. I became suddenly aware of the lack of arms around me.

I say _night before,_ but it was still night. The lounge windows were inky black, rain hammering against them, the room being lit only by the lamp on the little side table thing. The clock on the mantelpiece said two thirty-one. _Where the fuck are you at two thirty-one in the morning?_

As I sat up, I pushed the blankets off me and rubbed my eyes, blinking a few times until stuff stopped being blurry. That's when I realised, _there's blankets on me?_ I stared at them for a bit. One was a duvet and the other was this soft fluffy thing which I couldn't help but rub all over my face. Looking behind me, I saw that there'd been a pillow under my head. On the floor beside the couch lay my shoes.

 _Okay. This is weird._ Why had you done this? You weren't nice, why'd you do this for me? Was it just because I did it for you and you didn't want me to have one up on you?

Cautiously, I folded the blankets back fully and put my feet on the floor, looking around as if you might suddenly appear and tell me what you were playing at.

Standing up and stretching, I noticed that the vodka bottle I'd taken away from you and put on the coffee table was gone. Uh oh. _What if he's drinking again?_

I decided I had to try find you. You couldn't have gone far, probably just in your room or something. But then, if you were drunk, you could be anywhere.

The drinks cabinet was standing in the corner of the room, looking at me meaningfully. I felt worry shoot through me as I walked over to it. And when I opened the door, I groaned. It was completely empty.

 _Oh god._ What had you done with it? Had you just stashed it all up in your bedroom where no-one would see it? Or had you swallowed all of it in one night? What if when I found you, you didn't have a pulse?

Not wanting to waste any more time, I raced up the stairs, nearly tripping up several times in my haste. "Patrick?" I yelled, heading for your bedroom, "Patrick!"

I burst through the door, breathing heavily, bracing myself for the carnage I'd seen yesterday, frantically looking around for you.

But you weren't in here, either. In fact, I wondered if I'd even walked into the right room, because it looked so different.

There were no bottles on the floor. No clothes, no blankets strewn about the place, no mess. The room was spotless, the bed perfectly made with new sheets and fluffed pillows. The smell was gone, too, probably because the windows had all been flung wide open, the curtains flapping in the wind and rain spattering the windowsill.

I stared around, dumbstruck. _What in the name of fuck?_ Where the hell had all the bottles gone?

Through the confusion, I felt this little flare of hope inside me.

After looking in all of the rooms upstairs, in case you'd decided to pass out somewhere different, I hurried back downstairs, heading straight for the kitchen. I opened every cupboard to check that you hadn't stashed any drink behind the cereal or something, and in your fridge too. Nothing.

Then, peeking into the utility room thing whatever you call it, I saw your recycling bin. It was overflowing with glass bottles.

My heart did a little jumpy thing. _What if you'd chucked everything away? What if you decided to get clean?_

I told myself to calm down. Just because the bottles were empty and binned, doesn't mean their contents weren't currently in your blood.

I checked everywhere else I could think of in your house, even looked around in your back garden, but you weren't there. _He must've gone out._ But where the fuck would you go at two thirty in the morning?

Still, I rushed to your front door all the same, shoving on my shoes and jacket. When I put it on, though, I noticed something in my shirt pocket. Picking it out, I saw that it was two dollar bills.

I stared at them. I never put stuff in that pocket, hell, I never usually have change on me anyway. This was getting weirder and weirder. First you tuck me up on the couch, then you clean your room and throw your booze away, then you randomly plant two dollars on me. It was like you were trying to frame me for some kind of crime you pulled.

Putting the dollars back in my pocket in case they had some significance later on, I opened your front door and headed out into the rain. L.A. rain is strange, it comes when you least expect it and it's usually just like a warm shower, but with no sun, this stuff was cold as fuck and pummelled me as I tried to remember the way to the main road.

God knows how I managed to get a cab. I guess there's always one around somewhere in a city like this. But when the driver asked me where I wanted to go, I had no idea what to say. The only places I knew around here were your house, my old hotel and the coffee shop we'd met at, and I had no idea where you could be, so I just had to awkwardly ask the driver to just drive around the city for a bit.

It was kinda like playing Where's Wally as I pressed my face against the window and tried to see through the rain.

"Looking for something?" the driver said, a bit amused by my jumpy demeanour.

"Uh...yeah, my..." I tailed off, not knowing what to refer to you as. _Friend_ seemed too strong a word. "...my...a dude," I finished pathetically.

"What does this dude look like?"

"Uh, he's got blonde hair....and he's short....and pale."

"Okay, got it. I'll keep an eye out." He turned his eyes back to the road, slowing down a little so I could get a better look at passers by.

There weren't many, this time of night. The occasional drunk person that I'd hope to god wasn't you, sometimes a tired-looking business man.

After a while of just driving through the streets, we headed out a bit, towards the coast. I figured you couldn't have gone that far, you hadn't taken your car or anything, so I told the driver not to go anywhere further than, like, a five-mile radius.

We cruised along the coast, but I couldn't see you anywhere. I started to realise how pointless this all was, I'd never find one quite small dude in a huge city.

I did find you, though.

As the beach that stretched out beside the road came to a close, the board walk began, finishing with a long pier that reached out into the ocean. At the end of it, illuminated only by the stifled moonlight, was a figure.

I don't know how I knew it was you. I just suddenly banged on the window, yelling at the driver to stop.

"You found him?" he asked, peering out at the pier too.

"I think so," I said uncertainly, squinting to try and see through the rain.

"If you don't mind me asking, who is he?" he questioned, his tone gentle but curious.

I didn't really know how to answer that. "Uh...someone...someone I care about."

"A lover?"

"No! Well...yes, I guess. Ex-lover." I stammered, wondering why that was so difficult to respond to.

He nodded at me, and gestured towards the door. "Well, good luck, sir."

"T-thanks," I said, finding my wallet and practically throwing the money at him. "Uh, thanks for everything. Have a good night."

"My pleasure. You too," he said, that amused smile still on his face as he watched me scramble out the car. It was as if he knew.

I listened to the fading sound of the engine as he pulled away, and hurried off down the pier. I started to worry that maybe it wasn't you, and I'd just given up my cab and my time to scare the shit out of some unsuspecting stranger.

But as I got closer, I saw the shock of blond hair, the white shirt, the small shoulders.

"Patrick," I called as I stumbled up to you, breathing hard and almost collapsing into the cold metal bars at the edge of the pier.

"P-Pete?" you gaped, staring at me like I'd just fallen from the sky. "What – how did you know I was here?"

"I didn't," I panted, "I just spent forty minutes driving around looking for you."

"I...I'm sorry," you said, your eyebrows rising in disbelief. _So you're apologising to me now?_

As I got my breath back, I straightened up, looking at you properly. You were soaking wet, rain clinging to your hair and your eyebrows, running down your face. You were holding tightly onto the bar separating us from the raging ocean, your hands white as paper, your cheeks flushed with cold.

"Patrick..." I started cautiously, not wanting you to explode on me again, "are...are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

You cast your gaze back out to sea. "I don't know...I just – I just had to get away."

There was no slur in your voice anymore, no clumsiness in the way you stood. Thank god, you were sober. _But does that mean...?_

"I quit," you said firmly. My heart lifted.

"So...you threw out everything?" I asked, feeling happiness spreading through me.

You nodded, your gaze finding a home among your shoes. "Yeah. Everything. Tipped it all away, just like you did."

I smiled at you, and gave your shoulder a little squeeze. "That's really, really great. What made you decide to quit?"

"You," you said quietly.

"O – oh." I stammered, not really knowing what to say to that.

"I just..." you went on, looking around as if the words might fall with the rain, "I couldn't stand that you...that you saw me like that. It was all fine as long as I could hide it, y'know, as long as no-one knew, but then...when you found out I just...had a kind of reality check, I guess."

I would've hugged you or something, but then I guess we'd probably done more of that than was healthy already. You'd probably shout at me if I tried anything like that. Also, you didn't look happy or excited. You looked sorta shell-shocked, if I'm honest, like you couldn't quite believe what you'd done.

"I'm so sorry," you said suddenly, burying your face in your hands and turning away from me.

"What for?" I frowned, even though there were probably lots of things I could think of.

"Everything...I'm sorry you had to deal with this, sorry I fucking fell asleep on you, sorry I didn't listen."

"Listen, it's okay, don't – don't worry." I was getting more confused with every nice thing you said.

"Pete," you asked softly, turning to me, "can I ask something?"

"Uh...yeah, what is it?"

"Why did you come back?"

"What, after you kicked me out?"

You nodded.

"I...I dunno, I just sorta thought that, like, as an ex-alcoholic, I should try to help somebody else quit. And 'cause I'm the only one that knew...I had to," I shrugged.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that," you croaked, wiping rain from your eyes.

"But Patrick...why didn't you tell anyone else? Why'd you lie to everyone?"

"Because I hate what I am...what I was. I just couldn't take that you'd seen me with...with the bottles and stuff. You must think I'm disgusting." You bowed your head.

"No, no, I...well, I was a bit...shocked, when I found you like that." I tried to avoid agreeing with you.

You pressed your fingers into your eyes. "I'm sorry. Thanks for, y'know, picking me off the floor and stuff."

"Well, I couldn't just leave you there. You'd have been really achy when you woke up," I said, staring out at the sea. "Thanks for doing it for me."

You shrugged. "Just returning the favour."

It was weird, there was no malice in your tone at all. Nothing of the douche in the coffee shop was left. What the fuck was going on? Was this all some kind of twisted game to get me to trust you? I still had that snooty tone and that arrogant stare burned into my skull. I decided you owed me some answers.

"Listen, Patrick, can you just tell me what's going on with you? Why've you acted like such a jerk to me? If you hate me, why did you wanna meet up in the first place? And what the hell is this for?" I picked the dollars out of my pocket and held them out to you.

You stared at them for a second, then blew out a long breath. "That's...that's for the coffee."

"What?" I barked, still confused.

"You paid for my coffee."

"You made me pay for your coffee!" I said indignantly, folding my arms.

"I know...I had to make you hate me."

"Hate you? What do you mean, _hate you?_ "

"Well...I...I couldn't risk you wanting to be friends again...you'd know the signs, you'd see through me, and I couldn't bear the thought of you finding out." You let out a wistful laugh, "so that worked."

"What?" I repeated.

"I'm sorry. I thought if I made you hate me then you wouldn't wanna see me again, and you'd forget about me. You should forget about me." You sighed and looked out at the ocean again, the rain still falling in heavy sheets.

But I just stared at you. "What?" I blurted again, blinking at you. "But...you...you're an asshole, you, you treated me like crap...you're a jerk, you are!" I ran a hand through my hair, frowning at you.

Though, when you glanced back at me, there was kindness in your eyes, and suddenly I saw him. My Patrick. _Holy shit._

"Wait...so...so you're not an asshole?" I asked, taking a little step towards you.

You smiled slightly. "Well, I try not to be."

I felt my chest lift. "So, so you're not all snooty and _those things are very unhealthy you know?"_ I said, imitating your tone of disgust.

Frowning, you shook your head. "I'm really sorry I said those things. I don't mind you drinking milkshakes, it was actually kind of cute. And...and it's fine that your band hasn't released stuff yet, I'm sure you're doing great anyway. Anything else I said that was horrible, I didn't mean it."

My whole perception of you started to shift. _Oh my god._ I'd spent this whole time thinking you were a mannerless douche, and now you're not. Like, at all.

Excitement rose within me, and I suddenly reached out for you, turning your head towards me, taking your face in my hands and holding your cheeks tightly.

"So you're still smiley and kind and lovely?" I said, trying not to grin like an idiot.

You giggled a little bit, and I felt heat in your cheeks. "Well, I wouldn't say that..." you said shyly, and the light in your eyes alone was enough for me.

Laughing with disbelief, I took my hands from your face and scooped you up, lifting you off the ground so that your chest was level with my face and squeezing you tightly. You squeaked in surprise and batted at my head, but I could feel your laughter as I cuddled you.

"Pete," you breathed, finally finding words, "put me down, you moron!"

Still beaming, I gave you one last squeeze before gently placing you back on the ground. And when I looked at you, I no longer saw the arrogant blond. I saw the chubby kid with the sideburns who I'd loved so damn much. He was still there, still alive and kicking. He was looking at me right now.

Resisting the urge to give you another hug, I just sorta stared at you, a slight smile on your face. Grabbing the dollars out my pocket again, I held them out to you, gesturing for you to take them.

You frowned. "No, no, keep it."

"Patrick, it's two dollars, take it," I laughed.

But you shook your head. "No, please. It'll make me feel better."

"Really? Does it bother you that much?" I asked, brows knitting together.

"Well, it's just good manners. I can't stand that I didn't say please or thank you that whole time."

I smiled at you. _He's still polite!_ my brain squealed, wishing I could've found this out sooner and not thought those shitty things about you.

However. You still had an alcohol problem. You still shouted at me, you still kicked me out. My smile faltered, and so did yours. You bowed your head and turned away from me, leaning against the bar again and closing your eyes against the rain.

"So...so what happened yesterday?" I asked quietly.

"I...I just couldn't stand that you'd found out. I got angry, I...I'm sorry. And...also...I never really understood why you left. Why did you do that?" you said softly, your voice nearly swept away by the wind.

"What, when I...when we broke up?"

You nodded, not looking at me.

Letting out a sigh, I tried to find the right words. "I – it wasn't because of you. Well, I guess it sort of was, but it wasn't because I didn't love you. I loved you more than anything. But...all I could see was you hurting yourself, and I couldn't stand it, and you'd hide behind me and I thought...no, I knew, that if I left, you'd have to stop hiding. You'd have to make your own life, and you could be happy, with someone else. I wanted you to do exactly what you've done."

You gave me a confused frown. "What, become an alcoholic?"

"No, no, everything else you've done."

The frown remained on your face.

"You know, everything you've achieved!" I insisted, elbowing you lightly. "You got better, you got your own place, your independence, you made an EP _and_ an album, you're strong and you're still going! You're not suicidal anymore, are you?"

You shook your head, looking thoughtfully at me.

"You see? This was the whole point of me leaving, so you could do this. Solve the alcoholism and you're flying."

"So...you didn't leave because you gave up on me?" you said with wide eyes.

"No. I left because I didn't want you to give up on yourself." I hadn't even got that off an inspirational quotes website, either.

You kept staring at me, and gradually, I saw the realisation creep through your face. "O-okay," you breathed, smiling slightly and running your tongue over your lips.

"And listen, I know you're worried about what'll happen if you don't rely on alcohol. I know you think you'll go back to where you were. But you won't. You should be so fucking proud of what you've done, and you might not feel it, but you're so much stronger than you were. You can do it, Patrick, you can quit." I wished I had a mic, so I could drop it.

"You really think so?"

"Yes. You can. You gotta, you can't let it ruin you."

You smiled a little, then it disappeared. "But...ugh, you must think I'm such a hypocrite."

"Why would I think that?" I couldn't tell if there were tears in your eyes, or if it was just the rain.

"Because...because I stopped you drinking, and now...now I'm the one drinking."

I gave you a sad smile. "Listen, Patrick, with all due respect, you didn't stop me drinking. I stopped me drinking."

A little bit of hurt touched your eyes, and you opened your mouth to speak, but I stopped you.

"I don't mean that horribly. You helped me so much, and I am so, so grateful. I can never repay you for your kindness to me. But it was me who stopped. No-one can quit for you," I said gently, reaching out and rubbing your shoulder.

You nodded, biting your lip and running a hand through your hair. "So how do I quit?"

"Well, how much are you drinking?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. "Did you really only drink that vodka last night?"

"Yeah. Only that. Sometimes it's less, sometimes it's a bit more. The worst I've ever had is a full bottle."

"Oh," I said, pleasantly surprised. "Okay."

"What do you mean, _okay?_ Nothing about this is okay."

"Well, I know, but...you're not actually that bad, Patrick."

"Really?" you asked, your eyebrows rising.

"Well, I mean, it's still bad, I guess, but if you were that drunk off not that much alcohol, then you haven't built up a tolerance. You're not reliant on it. Which actually, technically, doesn't make you an alcoholic, just a heavy drinker. I was drinking twice that every day when it was me." I shuddered at the thought.

"So, like, how do I stop?" you said, looking at me curiously.

Feeling suddenly like a health professional, I stood up a bit straighter and thought for a moment. "I mean, you're halfway there already. Loads of people don't even admit they have a problem. And I guess everyone has their epiphany moment." Mine was waking up in your bed after that tour meeting. God, that was ages ago.

"So," I carried on, "the most important thing is that you really want this. Like, you're not just doing it 'cause someone told you to, or 'cause you think you ought to, you've gotta really, really know that quitting will make you better, and happier. That's the only way."

"What made you wanna do it?"

I felt myself blush, and looked at my shoes. The reason I quit was standing right in front of me. "You."

The sweetest smile touched your eyes, and you blushed too, and holy hell I'd have liked to hug you. "Really?" you said quietly.

I cringed at the sappiness of all this. "Yeah...I guess I..." I debated whether or not to say this next bit. _Oh, screw it._ "I knew the only way I was gonna ever deserve your love was if I got clean. And I wanted that more than anything else. So...yeah." I finished, shifting a foot.

The rain didn't seem so cold as I looked up to see your shy smile. "O – okay," you stumbled, "any other tips?"

"Well, like, everyone's different. There's loads online, and I guess a trip to the doctor's wouldn't hurt, but...oh, stay busy. Do stuff to keep your mind off it. Uh...then there's the obvious, like stay away from places and people with booze. Oh, and tell people. That one's good. It's difficult, but if you tell everyone you're gonna quit, then there's more pressure to actually quit."

Nodding quickly, your eyes flitted around, and I could almost see the ideas zipping through your brain, just like they used to when you'd get crazy and inspired in the studio. "Okay, I can do that...I'll call my mum, and Joe and Andy too, and a couple others, and tell them. And I can produce some more stuff, that'll keep me occupied. And, and -" you made wild hand gestures, "I could learn the trombone!"

I laughed, watching you bounce up and down on your toes like a little kid. You turned out to look at the sea again. It was calmer now, the rain slowing and the moonlight a little brighter.

"I can do this. I can fucking get clean," you decided, nodding your head as if that was the end of that. You'd always been such a determined little thing.

It's funny, I think I'd always seen you as someone who needed to be protected, even when I was at my weakest. I'd always wanted to shield you from stuff, seen you as the sensitive one, and, for want of a better word, the _weaker_ one. But looking at you now, I realised after far too long, how brave you are. You'd been through so much, hell, I'd put you through so much, and yet here you were, staring into the horizon with your head held high.

"D'you know, I'm really proud of you," I mused, as if I'd only just discovered it for myself.

"No, no, don't be proud 'till I've quit. I need to quit first, I need to."

Your words rang a bell inside my head. Then, I realised why. With a smile on my face, I hummed softly, "... _You need to run dry, you need to run dry..."_

With a groan, you elbowed me in the guts, shaking your head. "No, no, be quiet." I could hear the smile in your voice, though.

"What?" I whined, still spluttering, "it's relevant!"

You shot a fake glare at me and batted me in the arm. "God, I wrote that damn song as a metaphor. I didn't think it would turn into a reality. Wait, how do you even know that one?"

I shrugged. "I listened to the album, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Before I chucked it across the room," you sighed. "Sorry for shouting at you."

"Nah, man, don't worry about it. It was kinda scary, though."

You suddenly burst out laughing. "Shut up, no it wasn't. Look at me, for crying out loud! I'm a five-foot-four blond guy who looks like a twelve-year-old!"

"Yeah, but holy fuck can you shout," I giggled, poking you in the arm.

Still shaking your head, you grinned at me, before looking away at the night again.

Then, you opened your mouth to speak, waiting a couple seconds like you were nervous or something.

"Wait, so did – did you listen to the whole album?" you asked, suddenly shy again.

"Yeah, like, three times."

"What did you think?"

I looked at you and grinned. "Look, I'm gonna be honest...it's really good, dude."

You whipped round and stared at me. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"No, you know me, I always tell people if they're shit. And you're not. It's great, don't listen to anyone else. Just think about what you said in that one song, you know the last one?"

"Oh, _Coast?_ You liked that one?" The excitement in your eyes was quite adorable.

"Yeah, good lyrics, man."

"Well, I learned from the best."

I grinned at you, feeling my cheeks heat up, even in the cold.

You smiled back, looking me up and down. "Anyway, how've you been? I never asked before."

"Oh, I'm pretty good, everything's been kinda normal. Lost the emo fringe."

"You look good, dude."

"Thanks. So do you." It was amazing how much more attractive you were now that you weren't a horrible person.

You just rolled your eyes, though. "Ugh, I don't know what I was thinking with this," you gestured to yourself, "the hair and the suits and stuff. I look like a fucking clown."

"Nah, you don't. Suits suit you. And the hair is...different."

Laughing, you shook your head. "I knew you'd hate it."

"No, no, it's good, it's just quite bright. And how the hell d'you get it to stay up like that?" Even in the pouring rain, your tuft of blond had still got quite a lot of its volume.

You just shrugged. I decided I couldn't resist it any longer.

"Can I touch it?" I asked, reaching out a hand.

Giving me a confused nod, you let me run my fingers through your thick hair.

"Wow, it's so soft..." I mused, ruffling it a bit. "And so fluffy."

"Thank you. Fluffiness was the primary objective."

I laughed, resisting the urge to stick my face in it. I ended up just sorta stroking it, like you were my cat.

"Can you stop molesting my hair now please?" You said flatly, but you grinned straight after.

"Sorry." I gave it one last tousle and untangled my hands. "It looks cool, though."

"Are you kidding? I look like an ice cream."

"Well, ice cream happens to be one of my favourite foods, so screw you," I jeered, and you giggled. It must have been that sound that made me say what I said next. And the complete lack of reasonable thought that was going on in my brain. "But seriously, though, you're...you're really beautiful."

You scoffed at me, looking back out at the ocean. "You're not my boyfriend anymore, you don't have to say stuff like that."

Taking a step towards you, I leant against the bar too, and placed a hand lightly on your arm. "I'm not saying it as your boyfriend, I'm saying it as a person with functioning eyes." My voice dropped a little. "You are beautiful. Always have been."

At this point, my brain should've been screaming at me to _stop saying stuff like that to your ex, this is what happens in all the movies and it always ends badly so shut up you moron, leave him alone!_ but of course it was only egging me on.

You turned to look at me, your big eyes lit with the hint of smile and your eyebrows raised in surprise. You leant towards me a tiny little bit.

Before I knew it, my hands were holding your slim hips, and yours were on my chest, our bodies close and our gazes locked together. Very gently, our foreheads touched, and our noses bumped.

I could hardly feel the rain any more, only the warmth of your skin through your shirt and the tickle of your breath on my face, no longer tinged with liquor but with peppermint. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Your lips were slightly parted, wet from the rain and hovering millimetres from mine. All I'd have to do was lean forward the tiniest bit, and I'd feel them for the first time in two years, kiss you like I used to, hold you in my arms. I closed my eyes.

"No," you whispered, pulling away from me and bowing your head.

Opening my eyes, I felt the cold air on my bare lips, and my fingers dropped from your waist.

You buried your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have...we shouldn't...ugh, I'm such a fucking idiot."

"No, no, it was my fault, and you're right, we shouldn't...it's a bad idea," I nodded, the rational part of my brain regaining control.

"Yeah, a really bad idea."

"Definitely."

We both turned back to the sea, letting the rain drizzle down our faces. I kept trying to think of something to say, and failing.

"Although..." I said thoughtfully, trailing off.

"Although," you nodded, casting a sideways glance at me. "I mean, like...what if...?"

"What if...?" I said, turning to face you. "What if we...or would that...?"

"Yeah, no, you're right, it would. Unless..."

I shrugged, taking a step towards you. "Unless...?"

"Well, what if..." you looked up at me, this little flash of something in your eyes. Hope?

I didn't have time to clarify, though, because you started giggling, shaking your head.

"Look at us, this is ridiculous," you smiled, bringing me back to reality.

"Yeah, I know," I sighed, leaning against the bar. "What are we doing here?"

"We can't. It would be too complicated," you decided, looking quickly away from me.

"Yeah. Of course. But...then..." I faltered, treading carefully. "It's not like it wasn't complicated before."

"I know. I just..." you chewed on your lip, trying to think of the right words. "Getting over you was the most difficult thing I ever did. I don't know if I could do it again."

"Well...what if you didn't have to do it again?" I asked quietly.

"What, so you think...you think it could work?" you said, looking at me from under your lashes.

"I dunno...it might end up a huge mess like last time, but...but it could." Then, I jabbed a finger at you, "but only if you're better." I was gonna be quite insistent about that.

You nodded strongly. "Yeah. Yes. I gotta get better first. I gotta. It's the only way."

"So...if you're better, and I'm still good..."

"And neither of us have anyone else, and we both want it..."

"Then...we could try?" I finished cautiously.

"We...we could try," you said, a smile pulling at your lips. "So – so how long did it take before you knew you were gonna stay clean?"

I thought hard. "Uh...well, I guess you never really know. I still gotta be careful. But...but I s'pose that I felt, like, secure with it, after about six months, ish? Six months of being completely clean, that's when I knew that I'd beaten it."

Nodding, your eyes flicked around the place. "Okay. Six months. I could do that."

"Don't worry if you slip up. The first week, you'll probably feel great, but the next couple...it'll get tough, okay? And you gotta push through it. Sometimes, you're gonna want it more than anything in the world, but you can't let it get the better of you. But then, also, don't be too hard on yourself if you slip up. Don't give up just 'cause you made a mistake, keep going." I felt like I was giving you an army briefing.

You nodded again, listening to my every word. "I can do it."

"Yeah, you can, and I'll help you whenever you need it."

You looked up sharply. "No. You can't be here. You gotta let me do this by myself. I'll get support, from my family and stuff, but I gotta do this by myself and for myself. You gotta go."

My heart sunk a little bit. "But...but I want to see you."

"You will. But only when I'm better."

"O-okay," I said, trying to ignore the sense of loss I felt.

It had stopped raining now, the clouds were clearing and I could even see a few stars in the sky. As I looked out towards the ocean, there was the tiniest hint of orange on the horizon, the first signs of the rising sun.

"Pete," you asked suddenly, "why did you wanna see me again? After two years, why now?"

"Uh...I guess I just...I thought maybe we could be friends again. I missed having a best friend."

Your eyes lit up, and a smile spread across your face. "So did I."

We just sorta looked at each other for a couple moments, thinking of everything we'd been through together.

After a bit, though, I couldn't bear it anymore. "Oh for god's sake, gimme a hug!"

I didn't have to tell you twice. You launched yourself at me, squeezing the life out of me just like you used to, knocking the air from my lungs and sending me reeling backwards. I'd missed your hugs so fucking much. I could feel you laughing through your chest, and also how completely drenched you were. I mean, so was I, but at least I had a coat on.

As I let go of you, you unwrapped your arms from me and sighed happily. It was only then that I noticed you were shivering. Your white shirt clung to you, showing your pale pink skin through it, and your lips were tinged with blue.

Rubbing at your shoulders, I frowned at you. "You're cold," I said, like a concerned parent.

You nodded thoughtfully, as if you'd just that second noticed.

"You wanna go back now?" I asked gently, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

"Yeah. What time is it?" You questioned, looking at the sky as if the stars might tell you.

"I have no idea."

"Why do neither of us have watches or phones?"

"Because we're both idiots, that's why."

"Agreed," you grinned. "Let's go."

With that, you cast a last glance towards the horizon, before turning away, beckoning for me to follow. Which, of course, I did.

We walked back down the pier, side by side.

-

I'm on the plane, now.

I had to leave. When we finally got back to your house, I realised my flight was in, like, an hour. I said I didn't mind missing it, but you told me to leave. You said you'd see me again, though. In fact, you promised. And you always keep your promises.

So.

I'm kinda confused at the moment, to say the least. I mean, a lot happened last night. I think one of the biggest things is that you're not an asshole. And the fact that we were able to talk so easily.

But then also the other things. We got dangerously close to kissing. I don't really know how I feel about that. I wasn't supposed to get involved with you like this, it was supposed to be friendship at the very most. If there's one thing that show _Friends_ taught me, it's that you shouldn't kiss ex boyfriends. And you certainly shouldn't fucking agree to get back together with them. I mean, what was that? I can't just go around making plans. I'm over you, it took ages but I don't love you anymore.

But the things I felt on that pier were...well, weird. I'm trying to put it down to the fact that I'm single and therefore more prone to kissing random people. It's not really working. What I felt when you smiled, I just...it was like 2001 again. Shit.

The worst thing is that I'm actually kinda excited. You're gonna get clean. We might try again. It's all kinds of messed up and it'll probably all fall to pieces, but my mind doesn't seem to care about that. All I can think of is your eyes and the way you made my heart skip.

I'll be in Chicago in like, an hour or so. My sleeping pattern is gonna be completely screwed from our little three o'clock soul-searching session. It's weird, 'cause now I just gotta go back to my normal life and forget about you. I don't know if I wanna forget. 

The rational part of my brain is repeatedly slapping me for saying that stuff. But I don't know if I regret it.

Let's see what happens. 

Pete.  


	46. Chapter 46

 

Dear Patrick,

It's been twenty-eight weeks since that night on the pier. And yes, I've been counting, don't fucking judge me.

I haven't been up to much. Spent Christmas with some friends, which was nice, done a bit more travelling, done some business stuff. I also bought a tree. Don't ask me why, it's just been ages since I did anything with my garden, so I got this little sapling thing. It's on my window sill at home, it's not big enough to go outside yet, but when it is, I'm gonna plant it, like, right in the middle of the lawn. 

I haven't heard anything from you. Absolutely nothing.

You did that one last show, like, the day after I left, but other than that, there's been nothing. I've scoured the internet for any kind of hint at what you've been up to, but your name isn't on any news articles, your blog hasn't updated in like a year, there's no new YouTube videos to your name and even the fans don't seem to have any clue where the hell you are or what you're doing.

Not that I care. I shouldn't care, really.

But the truth is, I haven't really been able to stop thinking about you. I mean, it's not like you're constantly on my mind, but every so often I'll catch myself wondering if you'd think I look good in this shirt, or if you'd like the food at this restaurant.

I guess I hadn't let myself think about you at all for almost two years, so now I'm making up for it. That's my theory, anyway. I just really wanna know what you're up to.

Also, I keep thinking about when you might call. Every time the phone goes, there's this tiny little flash of hope that it might be you, but it never is. I don't even know what to do with myself at this point. Like, it's not like I need you or even that I want you, I'm just curious.

Have you kept clean? Are you still healthy? Are you happy? I wanna know, Patrick.

I'm kinda worried, too. 'Cause I know I said I didn't want you, but a couple nights ago, I jacked off thinking about you. Just stupid stuff like what it would be like to fuck you with those new sleek hips of yours, how I could claw at your blond hair and rip those gorgeous suits right off you, and- okay, I'll stop there. I felt really guilty after, like I'd done something wrong, but then all that stuff's just physical, right? It doesn't mean anything.

I'm sitting in a restaurant at the moment. Theoretically, it was supposed to be a date with this guy I met at the gym the other day, but he was kinda unsure and I guess I should've known he wouldn't turn up. I've been here for an hour already, I'll probably order soon. I don't mind eating alone anymore, it doesn't bother me, which I think is a good thing. If I sit here and write this, the restaurant might think I'm a critic, it'll be fun.

Date-wise, I haven't been very lucky. I didn't wanna wait on you, I can't pin all my hopes on our little deal. You're probably dating, so I should be too. But none of them have really led anywhere. The longest relationship I had was, like, two weeks, tops. Maybe I'm just preoccupied.

Anyway, I'm not gonna think about you, and

 

Shit.

So I just got a phone call.

It wasn't you or anything, but...fuck, what did I just get myself into?

It was Joe.

When I answered, he did his usual small-talk sketch.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Pete?"

"Yep, that's me. Joe?" I asked, even though I already knew it was him. God bless caller ID.

"Yep. Uh...how are you?"

"I'm okay, I'm in a restaurant at the moment. You?"

"Oh, sorry, shall I call back? This might be a long one," he said. He sounded a little dazed.

"No, no, it's fine, I got time." I leant back in my chair, getting kinda curious. Joe never talks for long on the phone.

"Uh, okay. Right. So. How long's it been since you played bass?"

I hadn't been expecting that question. "Hm. Not that long. I mean, I don't practice much anymore but I'll occasionally pick it up, I guess."

"Okay. Okay, good. Right. Uh...okay."

I waited for him to stop babbling nonsense. "Joe, what's up?"

"Okay, listen...I just had a call from Patrick."

Sitting bolt upright, I was suddenly a lot more alert. "Really? Patrick? Like, our Patrick?" I asked, just to be sure.

"No, Patrick Stewart, he's making a Star Trek re-boot and he wants us to do the theme music. Of course _our Patrick_ , you air head!" he spat, and I could almost hear the eye-roll.

"Alright, alright, sorry!" I held my hand up in surrender, even though he couldn't see me. "What did he say?"

"Well, uh...he asked...he asked if...he suggested that...that...thebandshouldgetbacktogether," he gushed.

I choked on the gulp of water I'd just taken. "What?!"

"Look, don't freak out, just listen. I freaked out too, but...but it might not be the worst idea on the world."

Still coughing, I grabbed my napkin and tried to clean up the water I'd managed to spray everywhere. "I think as bad ideas go, this one is near the top of the list," I spluttered.

"I know it seems crazy, just hear me out, okay?"

I sighed. "Fine. Tell me what Patrick said."

He took a deep breath. "Okay, so, there I am, just minding my own business, and the phone goes, and it's Patrick. And, like, that was already weird, 'cause I hadn't heard from him in ages. Apart from this one call a few months ago," his voice fell to a whisper, "did you know he got into drinking for a while?"

"Yeah," I said, a little too confidently.

"Oh. Okay. Did he tell you?"

 _No, I found him on the floor surrounded by bottles and stinking of liquor._ "Uh...yeah, he told me."

"Right, so, yeah, I think he's over that now, he said he'd quit or whatever. Anyway, so he calls me up and he's asking all the classic _how are you_ kinda questions, and then just out of nowhere he's like _hey, how about getting the band back together._ And I was like you, I just said no straight off, 'cause that's crazy, but he kept talking, he said if we did it better, did it right, then it could be fun again."

At this point, I was convinced that in the months since I'd seen you, you'd gone insane, and were most likely making that call from your cell in the mental asylum, but I decided to play along anyway. "Right...and how exactly did he propose we do that?"

"Well, he's been writing some stuff that he said didn't go with his solo stuff or whatever, and that now we're all mature and stuff, we might be able to handle the publicity side of things better. And to be honest, I've got stuff stored up that didn't go with Damned Things, so..."

"What, so we just get back together, and everything's all happy again?" I scoffed, folding my arms.

"No, we just...give it a go, I guess. He didn't suggest anything final, just to like, meet up and play a couple of the old songs, and maybe try make some new ones. If it doesn't work, then we'll forget it."

I leant back in my chair, squishing my fingers into my eyes. _I mean, if it's just a casual thing, then what's the harm? It could be fun,_ the little squeaky voice in the back of my head said. "Right...so, what did you tell him?"

"Uh...I said I'd do it," he replied sheepishly.

My face scrunched up. "What?! Just like that?"

"Hey, he's fucking persuasive! Every problem I had with it, he had an answer! Andy said yes too!"

"Andy? Is there anyone else who knew about this before me?"

"Uh...well, our manager. And like, everyone else who's gonna be at the meeting."

I nearly choked again. "What meeting?!"

"Just a little get together, to discuss how we're gonna do this. If we're gonna do this."

"And...you're all going?"

"That depends on whether you say yes or not."

Wow. No pressure then.

I could feel Joe waiting for my answer, so I quickly tried to have the five-hour debate I needed in order to decide this in five seconds.

_It could work._

Or it could end in flames.

_It might be fun._

Or it might be like watching my own intestines be pulled out of me.

_You miss it._

Shut up.

_You can back out if you want to._

True.

_Patrick would be there._

Yeah. Yeah, he would. I'd see him again.

_Joe said he'd stopped drinking._

He did. And if Patrick's better, then...well, who knows.

_Patrick thinks it could work, and you trust his judgement._

Yes, I do. But he can also be a crazy moron when he wants to be.

_A crazy moron who somehow always managed to be right._

Good point.

_You're all grown-ups now, too._

I guess so.

_And it'd be great to play those old songs again._

Yeah. Yeah it would.

"O-okay. I'll do it."

Joe let out a cheer, "great! That's great. The meeting's at Bob's house, you know where that is? He's still in the same place."

"Right, okay. Uh...what time, I guess?"

"I dunno, like eleven-ish? He said he'll give us lunch. And don't bring instruments, it's just a chat about stuff."

"Okay," I said uncertainly, spinning my fork in circles on the table. "So...did Patrick call Andy too?"

"I think so. He told me Andy was really easy to convince."

"So...why didn't Patrick call me?" I said, a bit put out.

"I dunno. He told me to call you and tell you what he said. He also said he was gonna send you something?"

"Oh," I frowned, the sinking feeling in my chest turning to a little spark of curiosity. "Is he? Okay."

"I dunno, man, that's just what he said." Then, his voice faltered a bit, "...are...are you two gonna be, like, alright with this? With each other?"

"Yeah, probably. I haven't seen him in ages, but I guess so."

"Did you get on okay when you met up that time?"

"Yeah, fine." _It's not like he was a dick then an alcoholic then kicked me out then was drunk then not a dick or an alcoholic and sober. And I totally didn't nearly kiss him. Nope._

"Right, okay. It'll be good to see you guys together again. Like, friends again," he corrected himself.

"Mhm, it will be," I hummed, trying to get my head around all this.

"Uh...okay, so I guess I'll see you next week, then?" He said awkwardly, clearly wanting this conversation to be over.

"Yep. See ya," I called casually, as if this wasn't a massive thing I was freaking out about.

"Bye."

He hung up.

 

So.

Fall Out Boy. That's a thing I haven't thought about in a while.

Do I really wanna be that guy again? _The guy from Fall Out Boy._ That was pretty much my name for eight years. But then, if we could start over? If we could do it how it used to be, no pressure and no media to get in the way? Not gonna lie, that would be pretty cool.

We could come back. We could come back better than ever, that'd show them.

I gotta say, I miss that feeling. When we'd go out on stage, and you'd only have to sing _Am I...?_ and the crowd would sing the rest for you. That rush was unlike anything else. We could do that again.

We wouldn't even have to be _that emo band_ anymore. We could do something way different, make it fucking amazing. So now I'm sitting here thinking that this might be a good idea. What's happening to me? Is this what you've been planning all this time? You sneaky bastard.

I mean, Black Cards kinda fizzled out, so I guess I don't have much on at the moment. And I'd like to see everyone again. I'd sure as hell like to see you again.

I should actually order soon, I can see the staff giving me weird looks. I did just spend quite a while yelling into my phone. But then I think I had good reason too. I have this strange feeling that that call might've changed everything. Fuck.

Oh.

I just got an email.

It's from you.

I'll ignore the little flare of happiness I just felt. Is this what Joe was talking about?

I just opened it. There's nothing there. You didn't even write anything, just sent me a blank email. What the fuck is with you?

Oh, wait, there's an attachment. An audio file.

_My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark._

Okay. Interesting.

I'll give it a listen.

From Pete.  


	47. Chapter 47

 

Dear Patrick,

I hate you. You're the most unapologetically annoying person I've ever met. Like, seriously, this is getting ridiculous.

The beginning of today, I was fine. I was _fine,_ just minding my own business, had a smoothie for breakfast, yep, a fucking _smoothie,_ bitch. Check out the healthy on me. I was all geared up for the day ahead, ready to go, you name it, I was prepared for it.

Except this. I was not prepared for this.

It's so weird, I haven't felt like this in years. And of course _you'd_ be the one to do this to me.

So anyway, some context is needed, I think.

We had the meeting thing today. About, like, getting the band back together. I still thought it was a stupid idea which would probably end with one of us getting knocked out by some kind of inanimate object, but I also sorta wanted to see what happened. If there's one thing I hate, it's being out of the loop.

I'd spent most of the car journey there muttering to myself about how ridiculous this was, and realising how much of a grumpy old man I'd become in the last week or so. _All these silly kids, thinking they can be rock-stars again. Pfft._ I am the oldest, so I'm entitled to be the grumpiest.

It was weird, going back to our manager's house after so long. It was also kinda weird not to be going there with you in the seat next to me, and a load of guitars in the back. I still knew the way, though.

He'd had a load of work done since I'd last seen the house, there was this extension on the side and a nice landscaped garden and a pretty little balcony running round the outside. And yes, to me that is interesting. There was a fuck load of cars in the drive already, and I wasn't even late. I wondered if you were already here, pushing down the excitement in my chest. _I'm gonna see him again, holy hell I'm gonna see him again._ Shut up, subconscious, nobody asked you.

Ringing the doorbell, I stepped back, making sure I was dressed okay. Not that I'd thought about it much. I'd gone kinda smart-casual, non-ripped black jeans and a nice-ish jacket. I picked nervously at the sleeves as I waited for the door to open.

When it finally did, I didn't even see who it was before they flew at me.

"Pete!" they shrieked, pulling me in for a hug.

"Uh...hi?" I choked as the air was knocked out of me.

"It's been ages, dude, how are you?" Whoever it was pulled away, gripping me by the shoulders and staring me straight in the face.

It was Charlotte.

Yeah, that Charlotte, the one you dated years and years ago. Wow.

Her hair wasn't red anymore, it was dark purple, shorter than it had been with a fringe that framed her face. She had that kind of slightly-more-grown-up-emo look, dressed in mostly black but with a purple plaid shirt. I was about to ask what the hell she was doing here, but then I guess this was her dad's house, so she probably had more right to be here than I did.

"H-hey, Charlotte, uh...I'm okay...you?" I stammered, trying to get my head around the huge hit from the past I'd just taken.

"Oh, don't bother with all that, get the hell in here!" She grabbed my arm and dragged me through the door.

A bit bewildered, I looked around at the wide hallway like it might close in on me, leaning down to take my shoes off as she babbled at me excitedly.

"This is so amazing, I can't believe you guys are gonna be a band again, everyone's gonna go nuts when you tell them. I missed you guys so much, like, that last record was fucking mind-blowing, how the hell do you even make something like that, I really liked Headfirst Slide, and West Coast Smoker, and obviously What a Catch. Speaking of which..." she trailed off, raising a sly eyebrow at me as I straightened up, "how long has it been since you saw Patrick?"

I stared at her. She must have been leading up to that this whole time, judging by the expectant look on her face. My mouth flapped, not expecting your name to be mentioned so soon. "Uh...like, half a year ago?"

She grinned, starting to lead me down the hallway, which spilled into a lounge. "Okay...so, why did you guys break up?"

"Well...uh..." I fumbled, not entirely sure if I wanted her to know that. "It just didn't work out, I guess."

Raising her eyebrows, she saw right through me. "Nope, what's the real reason?"

"Uh...he...he wasn't very well, and I wasn't helping him, so..."

"Right. So then you didn't see each other for two years, and then you met up again. And you agreed that you'd try again if you were both okay with it?" she asked, guiding me towards the sofa and shoving me into it.

I choked on nothing. She seemed to know a lot more about this than she was letting on. "Well...I...who told you that?"

"Patrick," she shrugged, "he told me pretty much everything, the drinking and stuff, and what happened on the pier. Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

Gaping at her, I struggled to find words. "Uh...no, but-"

"And are you still up for your little deal?"

"Well, it wasn't really a _deal,_ more of an agreement, I guess-"

"Because I happen to know that he's single. Dad's taking him on a tour of the place at the moment, he'll be down in a minute. Have you seen him yet?" She shuffled a bit closer to me, as if this was some sort of huge secret.

Completely baffled, I decided to just roll with whatever stunt she was pulling and shook my head.

"Well...I guess you're in for a surprise then," she smirked.

"What d'you mean? What's going on?" I looked around behind me at the kitchen to see if I could see you.

"Nothing's _going on,_ just...wait 'till you see him."

"Why, what's happened to him? Is he better now?" A little spark of excitement rose within me.

" _Better_ is one way of putting it. Completely knock-out spectacular is another," she said, flashing me another sly grin.

I frowned at her, still confused at the road this conversation had taken so soon. "Look, can you please just tell me what's-"

She held up a hand, cutting me off. Then, she pointed behind me at the opening to the staircase, where I could hear voices and footsteps getting nearer. Two figures trotted down the stairs, masked slightly by the shadows. I squinted to see them better, clutching at the back of the sofa and peeking out from behind the cushions. The first figure stepped out into the light.

Holy fuck.

You strode into the room, still talking to Bob, and my mouth dropped open. _No fucking way._

It was you, but different. You weren't in a suit, but you weren't in your old jeans and baggy sweater either. You had black jeans on, with laced black boots, and a grey-blue shirt with a leather jacket over the top. _Wow._

You were still slim, too, the jeans flaunting your thighs and the shirt showing off your slender stomach. Cheekbones still swept across your face, but on top of them sat black-rimmed glasses which went so well with your pale skin it was hardly true. And your hair. It was back to its normal honey-brown colour, but shorter, this fluffy bit of fringe coiffed up under the rim of a sleek black fedora that sat upon your head. Again, wow.

But that wasn't even the best part. Like, what you were wearing was great, but that wasn't what was making me stare. It was just your whole demeanour, the way you held yourself straighter, stepped lighter, the way you made wild hand-gestures and beamed sparkling smiles. There were no more shadows on your face, no more circles under your eyes, you were bright and shiny and new. The intro to that song _Back In Black_ was playing really loudly in my ears.

 _How? How is he...like...what?_ Even the voices in my head struggled to find words.

I heard Charlotte laugh, and she plopped down beside me, leaning over the back of the sofa with me and flicking her gaze between me and you. "So...what d'you think?" she squeaked, elbowing me.

"I...what the hell? When did he...get like _that?"_ I couldn't take my eyes off you as you walked towards the kitchen, still deep in conversation.

"I knew you'd like it," she smirked.

"But...how is he all...hot and stuff? That's not fair..." I whined, pressing my nose into the back of the sofa, still ogling you.

Giggling, she twisted me round to face her. "Stop staring, Pete!"

I tried to turn back to look at you. "But...he's so pretty..."

"I know, but I'm your cupid, so listen to me," she asserted, giving me a little shake. "You gotta be cool, okay?"

I nodded, pulling my best cool face.

"I said cool, not creepy."

"Hey!"

"Just calm down, okay, deep breaths."

I nodded, trying to inhale and exhale like a normal human. "So...he's single?" I said hopefully, trying to keep from squealing.

Charlotte smiled like I'd just proved her whole point. "Yes, my friend, he is. How, I'll never know, but he is."

"Do...do you think I have a chance?" I asked nervously, tapping my hands on the sofa and stealing another glance back at you.

She grabbed my hands to stop them fidgeting, and shuffled closer to me. "Listen, he's ready for a relationship. Look at him, for god's sake, he's a man now. And you two are so cute together, you gotta go for it."

"O-okay," I said quietly, a smile spreading across my face. The hyperactive teenage girl inside me was beating up all rational thought with a large sledgehammer and there was nothing I could do about it, so I gave in to the excited squeaks. "He's so pretty!"

"I know!"

"And so smiley!"

"I know!"

"And look at that damn outfit on him, jesus," I breathed, sighing.

"Yeah, that shirt is so tight..." she smirked, elbowing me.

That little locker-room feeling stirred up, and I smirked back, "trust me, his shirt isn't the only thing that's tight."

She gasped and batted my arm, but grinned all the same. "People will be queuing up to be the friction in _his_ jeans," she giggled, and I joined in, doing the classic oops-a-naughty-joke-happened squeal.

"I'd Folie á Deux him," I spluttered, finding this way funnier than I probably should have been, my face starting to heat up.

"I bet he'd let you bang his doldrums," she shrieked, pretty much collapsing into the sofa and shaking with laughter.

At this point, we were both complete messes of guilty giggles, reduced to slumber-party stupors and congratulating ourselves on how utterly hilarious we were, red-faced and bent double.

"What's so funny?"

I looked up. You were standing over us, a confused smile on your face.

I felt myself blush furiously, and slowly pushed myself up into a normal sitting position, giggles still caught in my throat as I blinked at you. _Holy fuck he's near me._ "N-nothing," I stammered, feeling Charlotte curl up into a ball beside me, one hand over her face and another clamped over her mouth to stifle her eruption of fresh laughter.

Your eyes flicked between me and her for a second, your eyebrows knitting together as you tried to work out what was going on.

I tried desperately to compose myself, swallowing hard and breathing deeply. "H-how are you?"

"I'm really good," you beamed, and I think I melted a little bit. "You?"

Mesmerised by your straight white teeth, I tried to remember the English language. "I'm...uh...good."

"You look good," you smiled sweetly, your eyes bright and too blue to be allowed.

"Nnghh," I blurted, staring open-mouthed at your face.

Laughing slightly, you ran your tongue over your lips, sinking down to your knees so you were level with me and folding your arms over the back of the couch. I think my heart sped up a little bit. "So, uh, what d'you think of getting back together?"

My chest lifted. _Holy hell, he's not wasting any time, is he?_ "Yeah, let's do that," I breathed, nodding quickly and not even questioning my decision. Subconsciously, I leaned towards you, wishing I could sink through the sofa cushions.

That's when I realised you'd meant the band.

"...with the band. Let's do that with the band. That sounds like a good thing for the band to do. As a band," I finished, hoping I'd saved it.

"Good!" you said brightly, grinning at me so your cheeks did that round thing and your eyes crinkled up at the sides. _Fuck, look at his eyes._

It took a few seconds for me to realise I'd been nearly actually drooling, my mouth dangling open like a horny teenager at a Victoria's Secret show, and I quickly shut it, to preserve the festering corpse of my dignity. _Be cool. Be. Cool._ "So how're you?" I said as nonchalantly as I could.

"You already asked that," you giggled, cupping your face in your hands like an actual cherub, "and I'm very well, thank you."

"Oh," I blushed, yet again, and by this point I swear all the blood in my body was in my face. I hoped to god my skin tone was hiding the worst of it, otherwise I probably looked like a bowl of tomato soup.

You grinned again, and I watched the way your lips curved into your perfect smile before falling back into their normal shape, full and plump and _oh god how good would they look stretched around my – No, for god's sake, no, I can't think of him like that, why the hell am I so damn horny_ _right now_ _?_ Suddenly, the blood in my face wasn't the problem anymore.

"Anyway, uh..." you started after I'd stayed silent. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I'd make some obscene noise at you. "I think the guys are in the dining room, if you wanna go say hi. Pretty much everyone's here, so we'll start the meeting in a bit, I just gotta go find Bob 'cause he said he'd show me the garden. We'll talk later, yeah?"

Nodding, I watched you get up, ignoring the way my chest sank a bit. _Say something, quick, go on._ "I like your hat!"

 _Brilliant. Fucking brilliant._ My brain slow-clapped at my mouth.

You just smiled, though, touching a finger to the fedora on your head and looking up at it as if you'd only just remembered it was there. "Thanks. I like your face."

And with that, you gave me a final cheeky grin, and turned on your heel.

Cue internal screaming.

Charlotte uncurled herself from the cushions, her face flushed from laughing and a wicked smile on her face. As soon as she sat up, she started drumming excitedly on my knee, making sure you were out of earshot before squealing, "you two are so fucking cute!"

I couldn't help but squeal back, "He said he liked my face!"

We flapped about for a bit, making frantic mouse noises like crazy fan-girls. "You're so into him, it's hilarious! And your flirting is really awful, dude."

I batted her arm. "Hey! My flirting game is usually on point." And that was the weirdest thing, usually I am good at flirting, at playing hard to get and staying cool. But you made me fall to pieces, I had no idea what had even happened to me. I was reduced to incessant giggles and a heart that was doing somersaults.

I lowered my voice to a whisper, "Do you – do you think he likes me back?"

"Are you kidding? He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, with that smile and that swagger. You're not getting out of this now, Petey-pie," she cooed, poking me in the arm.

The rational part of my brain bashed its head against the wall, while the part that was responsible for the blushing and the drooling was skipping in circles and singing loudly. "Okay," I breathed, wondering what the fuck to do with that. I wasn't wondering for long, though. "Should I ask him out?"

"No," Charlotte said firmly, shaking her head. "Not when you're all...mushy. You gotta regain at least _some_ of your dignity. Be patient."

"Aww...but I just...I just wanna cuddle him!" I whined, flopping my face into the sofa cushions.

"I know, I know, just hold back on the whole desperate loser thing. For now, I think – Pete, get your head out of the couch."

Yanking my face from the sofa, I looked at her apologetically. She scowled.

"Listen, sit up straight...shoulders back...chin up – don't you dare look out that window – hands loose, face not like a serial killer."

I followed her instructions one by one, trying to get rid of the fluttery feeling in my stomach. Coughing slightly, I flexed my back muscles, taking deep breaths. "Okay. Okay, I'm good," I said gruffly, like a proper manly man.

"Right. So. You get in there, sit through the meeting, try not to stare, then ask him out after, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." _Holy shit this is happening._

"Oh, you could even walk him to his car, that'd be cute. Then, then you could, like, kiss his hand or something, like proper romantic shit, oh my god this is amazing!" Her mask of seriousness fell away as she began to get worked up again.

If I'm honest, so did I, grinning from ear to ear. "Okay. I'll do it, yeah, I can do that!"

She pressed her knuckles to her cheeks and squealed, before shoving at my arm. "Good! Now go, you moron, you've got a band to resurrect. And a Stump to nail," she added, winking.

Springing from the sofa, and still beaming like a bemused Labrador, I tried not to bounce about too much. _Face not like a serial killer, remember?_ "Right," I nodded yet again, her advice suddenly becoming the word of god.

She shot me finger guns as a sign of good luck, and shooed me towards the dining room.

-

The meeting took _ages._

Like, we were discussing interesting stuff, so for once I was actually semi-engaged in the conversation, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it was long.

We went through _everything._ What we liked about before, what we didn't, what we wanted to do more of, what we definitely shouldn't do, what could go wrong this time, whether we were all prepared for this, whether it was actually a good idea, what had changed about the industry, how we were gonna change, how the music was gonna change, who we might work with, what it would sound like, whether we were gonna tell anyone, then _how_ we were gonna tell everyone. Phew.

It was difficult to get everyone to focus, too, 'cause we hadn't seen each other in ages, so we kept drifting off into conversations about dogs and houses and that new Mexican place in town.

And I couldn't take my eyes off you.

I'd deliberately not sat next to you, so I wouldn't be tempted to jump on you, but Joe and Andy had bagsied the ends of the table 'cause they thought it'd be funny to shout across it at one another, so when you came and sat down, you were directly opposite me. You smiled at me and chatted to me airily, as if you didn't even realise what you were doing to me. 

I tried to ignore you, I really did. I put on a serious business face, and took some notes, like everyone else did, making actually valuable contributions and intelligent comments. And, a couple hours in, I was doing pretty well, able to look at you calmly and not blush.

Then it all fell apart when you started talking about music.

It was my fault, really, I'd been the one to enthusiastically yell, _hey, Patrick, show us that demo you sent me, y'know, My Songs Know whatever the hell something about dark and stuff,_ _it was really fucking cool!_

And you'd given me this huge toothy grin, pink blossoming across your cheeks, and you'd brought out the hand gestures and the bright eyes and all the other things in your arsenal of adorableness, and suddenly you were the only person in the room.

You'd taken off your jacket, revealing a fuzzy cardigan, fiddling with the sleeves and pulling them over your hands so you had little dark blue paws. Fucking _paws,_ are you kidding me? What are you, a kitten? I nearly lost it when you used the paws to push up your glasses, and brushed at the little wisps of hair on your face, I mean, there's gotta be _something_ in the US constitution that says you can't do that. Excessive cuteness costs lives, Patrick.

Then there was everything else. The way you sat, not all hunched up and hidden, but laid back, alternating between crossing your legs and leaving them sprawled open, your boots forever tapping some kind of beat into the floor. When you laughed, you'd throw your head back, clapping your hands together, not even checking to see if other people were laughing too or caring that you were being loud.

I guess that was the thing that really struck me. Even before you got ill, you'd been self-conscious. You'd always kinda cover yourself up, hiding behind hats and sweaters and nervous smiles, always anxious of being judged. Now, though, you weren't hiding. Your arms weren't crossed over your stomach, or hugging your knees to your chest, they were thrown about the place in wild gestures, no uncertainty, no hesitation. It was as if someone'd cut all the ropes your mind had been bound up in, opened the cage and let you fly off. I could almost see the sky in your eyes.

After that, I wasn't even at a meeting anymore, I was a one-man Patrick Stump fan-club. If I could've seen me, I probably would've given me a slap. I was all _oh god he looked at me,_ and _aah_   _he just rolled his sleeves up, fuck, look at those arms._ I can honestly say I've never fallen quite so hard in such a short space of time. I hadn't crushed this much on someone since...well, since I first met you.

Firmly aboard the infatuation train, my thoughts raced. _Holy fuck, I've gotta ask him out? How the hell do I do that without tripping over my own tongue? What if he says no, then what do I do? Go back to 2001? Oh god, I can't do this._

But, as it turned out, I didn't have to.

-

By the end of the day, that was it. The band was gonna get back together, or at least give it a go. I was actually kinda excited. For the first time in a long time, I had _Sugar_ in my head. I wonder what it'll be like to hear you sing that again.

We were all pretty exhausted, our voices hoarse from talking for so long, and we practically staggered out of the room when it was over. I let you leave before me, you were in deep conversation with Joe about some kind of guitar tech, and I needed a few seconds to get my bearings.

When I finally did heave myself from the seat, surprised it hadn't fused to my body from being sat in for so long, I was greeted at the doorway by an excited-looking Charlotte.

"So how'd it go?" she asked, hands clasped together in front of her.

"Well, we're gonna try do a couple practices next week, and if we don't suck, we'll maybe write something new, I guess," I shrugged, realising I didn't actually remember much of what was said.

"That's so cool, Fall Out Boy is getting back together and I'm the only one that knows about it, everyone on Tumblr is gonna freak out when you tell them!"

"May I remind you that you are a functioning adult and not a sixteen-year-old? Why do you even have a Tumblr?"

"Hey! I'm part of a dying race of emos, we gotta stick together. Speaking of sticking together, have you asked him out yet?"

I rolled my eyes. She really was the queen of smooth segues. "No. What do I even say?" I flicked my eyes towards you, still chatting away to various people, and felt a little flare of nerves.

"Just ask him, for god's sake! You've already done it once before."

"Yeah, but that was ages ago, he'd already kissed me and I had four years to think about it!" I picked at a loose thread on my jeans.

"So you wanna wait another four years?"

"No..."

"Do you wanna give it another go?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Then fucking do it! Or I'll do it for you, primary-school fashion."

I groaned. "Okay. Fine. If he says no, though, and it gets really awkward and we can't perform together again, remember that you single-handedly prevented the return of Fall Out Boy. They'll kick you off Tumblr and everything."

She huffed at me. "He's not gonna say no! Go!"

She shoved at me, and I shoved her back, then gave her a dramatic glare and flounced off.

_Hey, Patrick, dude – no, don't say dude – hey, Patrick, Patty-boy, the Pat-meister – nope, say that and he'll slap you – hey, Patrick, I just wondered if, maybe, you'd like to go out with me? Hmm. Too sappy? Hey, Patrick, do you wanna go for a meal? To the movies? Hey, can I fuck you in my car? Hey, do you wanna be my boyfriend? Hey, will you marry me? Oh for fuck's sake._

Sighing out loud, I ran my fingers through my hair, hovering awkwardly behind you as I waited for you to stop talking. Seriously, what was there left to say?

Eventually, you said your goodbyes, and I thought it'd be my chance to strike, but then I had to say my goodbyes too, and before I knew it, you'd disappeared again, off down the hall to get your coat.

Finally, _finally,_ when you were bent down re-tying one of your boot laces, I caught up with you, knowing I only had a couple minutes alone with you before Joe and Andy would come get their stuff.

Standing next to you awkwardly, I pretended to look for something in my coat as I thought of what to say.

_Say something._

_Anything._

_Literally anything._

"Hnng," I blurted. I mentally punched myself in the face.

I heard a laugh, and suddenly you'd popped up in front of me. "You okay there, Pete?"

Blinking at you, I nodded. No more speaking for me.

"You sure? You were kinda quiet towards the end of the meeting."

 _Yeah, 'cause you were being a fucking gorgeous piece of shit._ "Really? Just tired, I guess," I shrugged, amazed at my ability to say words.

"I know, I swear I haven't talked so much in my life. My voice is gonna be fucked for next week," you sighed, fixing your hat idly.

"Nah, you'll be perfect." _Shit. Perfect is not the word I was going for._

You smiled all the same, though. "Thanks."

_Ask him. Ask him now._

"Patrick, I-"

"Hey, Pete," you said over the top of me, then realised you'd interrupted. "Oh, sorry, you go."

"No, no, you first," I insisted, trying to buy more thinking time.

But thinking went out the window when you blinked your big eyes at me and gave me a small smile. "Well," you stood a bit straighter, "hi, I'm Patrick and I was just in that meeting with you," you held out a hand and I shook it, giggling slightly, "and I couldn't help but notice how rather attractive you are, if you don't mind me saying. And I was wondering if you'd give me the pleasure of taking you on a date."

I nearly floated off the ground. _Holyshitholyshitholyshit, he asked me out he asked me out!_ "Well, hi, I'm Pete and I would love to go on a date with you," I beamed, thinking I might just keel over in the hallway.

"Great! That's great. Are you free, say, Friday?" you asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded enthusiastically, wondering how the hell an eyebrow could be so pretty.

"Well then, I'll pick you up around seven? I believe you already have my number."

Nodding again, my face started to ache from smiling so hard.

Then, putting your hands behind your back, you pushed yourself up on your toes and kissed me lightly on the cheek, before stepping back and shooting me a bashful grin. 

With a tip of your hat and spring in your step, you strode off down the hallway, where Bob and our publicist were talking by the open door.

Well.

I think it's fair to say I'd been well and truly wooed.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I touched my fingers to my cheek where you'd kissed me, just like they do in the movies. _Shit. I got a date._

"Oh my god!" A voice squealed from behind me, and surprise surprise, it was Charlotte. "He asked you! _He asked you!"_

"I know!" I shamelessly squealed back. "The cute boy asked me out!"

By this point, my blush had made a home in my cheeks, and it felt like every cell in my body was simultaneously fangirling.

My smile lasted me the whole way home.

-

So now I'm freaking out.

What even happened to me back there? It's embarrassing, frankly, that I melted like that in front of you. And that I took Charlotte's advice so willingly. I mean, what does she know? How the hell can she possibly predict how this is gonna end up?

It ended so badly last time. So, so badly that I made a point to never, ever put myself through that again. And now I've gone and got another fucking crush on you. This is exactly what happened the first time.

Except something's different. Last time, you were young and shy and insecure, and you shouldn't have had to deal with someone like me. Last time, I was suicidal and fucked up and abusive, and I shouldn't have been let near someone like you. But neither of us are like that anymore. We've grown up, we've learnt to fix ourselves. 

Whatever this is, whatever this is gonna be, I feel kinda good about it. I forgot how fun crushes are, it's like I'm in high school again. I get this little flutter when I think about you, and I keep randomly smiling.

So, in summary, the band's back, Charlotte's my hero, and you're a cute little pain in the ass.

See you Friday.

From Pete x


	48. Chapter 48

To my cute little pint-sized fedora-topped smiley happy lovely boyfriend,

There is an itsy-bitsy tiny little microscopic chance that I might have a crush on you.

I've spent the last week in the middle of a brain-war over whether this is a good idea or not, but after Friday, the _yes_ campaign took the upper hand and ran off with it, so there's really nothing I can do about this anymore.

Speaking of Friday, or writing of it, I guess, it was pretty fantastic. Well, mostly. Most of it was fantastic.

The good news is that I'm not the only one whose plans get fucked up.

-

I was so excited. Like, little kid on Christmas Eve excited. I cleaned my whole house, even right at the back of the cupboards where there were all these spiders who didn't really wanna move all that much, so I kinda had to clean round them, and even after that there were like two whole hours to go before you picked me up.

Choosing a suit took ages. I didn't really know what the hell we were gonna be doing, so I just decided to dress smart. You can't go wrong with a good suit. Turns out you'd thought exactly the same thing.

Although, _good_ is an understatement.

You turned up at bang on seven o'clock, which was a miracle in itself, because you'd turn up late to your own funeral if you could, and I've never been so thrilled to hear a doorbell in my life. I flew from my nervous sofa-fidgeting and yanked the door open.

I knew it was you, you said you were gonna be here, I'd literally been looking forward to this for like four whole days, but I was still surprised to see you standing outside my door. Then again, you were enough to take anyone's breath away.

There was a smile brighter than the moon shining on your face; you had another fedora on, a grey one with a black band, to match the grey plaid suit you were wearing, a black tie fastened around your neck. It was so perfectly fitted, the sharp folds outlining your shoulders and chest and making me wish I was a cuff-link.

"Good evening," you smiled, tipping your hat.

"Wow," my mouth spilled before my brain could stop it. _How does he get prettier every time?_

You puffed a laugh through your nose and looked down at yourself as if to question my judgement. "Thank you, wow to you too."

Twenty seconds into this and I was already blushing. Brilliant. "T-thanks. Uh, so, shall we go now?"

"Well, unless you wanted to have dinner on your doorstep..." you sighed dramatically, looking up towards the sky.

"Alright, Mr. Sassy, where are we going?" I huffed, stepping out the door and pulling it shut behind me.

"Mr. Sassy is my stage name, please, call me Patrick."

"Shut up," I said, rolling my eyes, if only to force myself to take them off you. "I see you're still annoying, then?"

"Why thank you. You still agreed to go on a date with me, though," you smirked, jabbing a finger at me.

"God, I know. What have I got myself into?" I cried, throwing an arm over my face. It was an Oscar-worthy performance, trust me.

"Oh, be quiet, it's gonna be amazing," you scowled, grabbing my arm and tugging me towards your car.

I tried to hold your glare, but we both just ended up laughing. "So where're we going?" I asked, as you opened the passenger door for me.

You bounced into your side and raised a gentlemanly eyebrow. "We're going to a lovely new French restaurant where we will dine sur la magnifique Parisienne cuisine," you said, your French accent appalling but still sorta hot.

"Great. Okay," I grinned, a little tingle running down my spine as I realised I was in your car and you were sitting across from me just like you used to be. My arm buzzed where you'd grabbed it, the warmth of your fingers staining my skin.

"Right, let's fucking do this," you asserted, starting the car as forcefully as you could and cruising off down the road, through the suburbs and into the city. I remember looking at you and thinking, _tonight is gonna be amazing._

-

I was so right.

You babbled away on the drive to the restaurant, filling me in on stuff that we hadn't got to before, how you were renting a flat not far from here, and you'd got someone to water your plants in L.A. while you were away, and then I told you about the tree I'm growing and you laughed and I told you to shut up and you laughed harder.

The gaps in the conversation were filled with occasional glances across at each other, hidden smiles and fidgeting heartbeats fluttering in the air between us. I had so many things I wanted to ask you, but I figured it'd be best to talk properly at the restaurant.

It was a nice place. Not as nice as the one I'd taken you to when I'd asked you out before, but seeing as that was such a disaster, it was probably a good thing. I was wrong about that, though.

They put us on this cute little table at the back, where there was low lighting and possibly more romance than we really needed on a casual first date. I had to keep reminding myself of that; it was _casual,_ it was getting to know each other again, it was _not_ jump-on-the-attractive-boy-and-ask-him-to-marry-me. Shame.

"So..." you said when we were both sat down.

"So." I blew out a slow breath.

You adjusted your hat, folding your arms on the table and looking around at the few other people in the place, the quiet hum of conversation floating in the air. "Here we are again."

"Yup," I gulped. Now we were sitting here, across from each other, as a potential couple, it all seemed a bit surreal. "Patrick...are we crazy for doing this again?"

"Probably," you shrugged, "but, like...who doesn't need a bit of crazy now and then?"

The anxiety building in my chest loosened a little. "I guess."

"Listen, if you don't wanna do this, if it's too weird or, like, you don't see me that way anymore, we can just make this a friendly dinner. Scratch the date part," you said gently.

"No, no, it's not weird, and I definitely do see you that way...well, I mean, I...I'm attracted - I like you, I mean, not in a creepy objectifying way, but you...I...oh, I don't know." I tailed off, deciding to shoot that sentence in the head. "I...I wanna give it a go," I said finally.

You grinned, "good. Okay. Then let's give it a go."

Besides, we'd both put way too much effort into our suits for either of us to have had cold feet about this. We were just second-guessing ourselves for appearance's sake, to be honest. I knew I _should_ have reservations, I _should_ be being careful, but it was kinda difficult to even care when your blue eyes were resting on me and your smile eclipsed all the worries I could possibly have.

However. There was one thing I had to know before this went any further.

"Patrick, are you clean? Like, not drinking?" I asked, a bit more aggressively than I'd meant.

You looked up at me, your gaze steady and serious. "Yes. Of course. That was the deal. I wouldn't have suggested this if I wasn't."

I breathed out slowly. "Okay. Sorry. Joe and Charlotte both told me you were, I just wanted to hear it from you."

"That's okay. Six months, just like you said," you stated, beaming proudly.

If you were proud, I was ten times prouder. "That's really great. How did you find it?"

"Uh...it was fine at first, once I had that motivation, I guess. But you were right, the couple weeks after...they were pretty tough. Had a couple slip-ups, but I got through it. Saw a couple therapists, too, went to some meetings, they helped more than I thought. I'm guessing you're still good? How long has it been now?"

"Five years," I said, and the way your eyes lit up made my stomach flutter.

"Wow, Pete, that's great. Fuck, that's so good. I've got a lot of catching up to do," you sighed, lifting your hat up and ruffling your hair.

"Nah, you'll be there in no time. So, no wine for the table, then?" I mused, picking up the posh menu and flicking through it till I got to the drinks.

You laughed. "No, I think that's best."

We just got lemonade, in the end, the best option off the very limited soft-drinks section. The waiter gave a weird look as he took our orders. I made the mistake of assuming it was 'cause we weren't drinking. It wasn't.

I didn't think anything of it, though, as we munched our way through the starter and the main. I could hardly remember what it was like to be nervous on a date, it was so easy, the words just seemed to roll off our tongues and it was as if we'd never missed those two years.

We talked about everything; friends, family, pets (neither of us have any 'cause I have plants and you'd probably kill whatever animal you brought into your house by forgetting about it completely), duvets for some reason, music, more music, even more music (I swear you could've gone on for days if we weren't interrupted by food arriving), cars and art and cooking and I can't even remember what else.

That was about when my crush decided to flare up.

I'd done a pretty good job of not seeming like a lonely loser, not staring too long or smothering you with too many compliments, I wanted to take it slow.

But then, I felt your foot touch mine under the table, and neither of us flinched away.

It was such a small thing, but I think it reminded both of us why we were there, and I started to wonder if I'd get to kiss you at the end of the night.

You were picking idly at the remains of your dinner when you placed your other hand on the table, edging it towards the middle. Top marks for subtlety, Patrick. I pretended not to notice for a bit, rearranging my knife and fork on my plate and undoing then redoing the cuffs of my jacket. Then I gave in.

Putting my hand on the table too, I inched it towards yours until our fingers brushed. You looked up, watching as I slid my hand underneath yours and squeezed it gently, a warm rush creeping over my skin.

"Finally, you caught on," you huffed, feigning annoyance with a _tsk_ and an eye-roll, then shifting your hand and lacing our fingers together. We both stared at our interlocked hands for a second, breathing little laughs as if we couldn't quite believe we were doing this again.

You flashed a bashful smile at me, colour touching your cheeks and lighting your eyes. It's funny, I could tell from your clammy palm and the way you shifted in your seat that you were nervous, but it wasn't like before; you weren't hiding your face or checking around to see if anyone else was watching. I felt myself smile at you, at this old friend who was so new to me.

"You look amazing, by the way," I said softly when I realised I hadn't actually told you that yet. "And I don't just mean the suit and stuff...you just...confidence looks good on you."

You blushed harder. "Thanks. I feel good, too...just...more comfortable, I guess." You fiddled with your hat again, brushing at your fringe where it curled up under the rim.

"So...is the fedora here to stay?"

"I don't know, I kinda like it. It'd be nice to have some hat-consistency in my life. What do you think?"

"I think you look great whatever."

You made a _pfft_ sound, but I felt your fingers squeeze my own.

"Seriously, you do. I'm just glad you're happy with yourself." _Glad_ was one way of putting it. _Fucking over-the-moon scream-it-from-the-rooftops ecstatic_ was another. "Hey, can I kiss your hand?" I said suddenly, staring at the milky white of your fingers against my own darker ones. Our colours always did go well together.

"Really? You wanna do that?" you smiled, flattered confusion touching your eyes.

"Well, I'd quite like to kiss you, if that's okay, but I don't wanna be too PDA since we're in a nice place, and also it's the only part of you I can reach," I shrugged. "And it's kinda cutesy gentlemanly romantic, isn't it?"

You giggled, and holy fuck I want that sound as my ringtone. "Okay, I admire your logic."

"Thank you," I grinned as I brought your hand to my lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of it, then kissing each of your fingers.

"That tickles!" you laughed, wriggling your hand around under my lips and making me smile against it.

"Sorry," I said, even though I wasn't even remotely apologetic, and kissed the back of your hand one last time before putting it back on the table and entwining our fingers once again. Kissing-urge satisfied, I felt my chest swell, the smile on my face not going away no matter how hard I tried.

It did go away, though. Neither of us expected what happened next.

"Excuse me, gentlemen?"

We both broke eye contact and looked up at the waiter, who'd suddenly appeared beside our table. "Uh...yeah?" I said with dull confusion, kinda annoyed that he'd interrupted our little romantic moment.

"We're very sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to leave."

_Uh...what?_

You frowned, looking up at him quickly. "Why?" you said indignantly, not letting go of my hand.

"Yeah, why?" I seconded, pulling out my most accusatory expression. _What the fuck?_

"We've received a complaint from a valued customer, I'm sorry, they, they said you were...uh..." he faltered, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to remember something. "You were exercising crude displays of affection," he finished, sighing.

"What displays of affection _?"_ You questioned, keeping your voice gentle 'cause he was so visibly nervous.

"Uh...excessive, uh, fondling, uh...kissing and stuff, I think..." he trailed off.

I was not so gentle, scowling up at him and sticking out my chin. "I _kissed_ his _hand,_ I didn't fuck him across the damn table!"

He flinched, blurting an apology. "Hey, listen, don't worry," you started, giving me a _calm down it'll be fine_ look, "could we speak to a senior member of staff?"

He nodded quickly, thanking you with his eyes and hurrying off to the other side of the restaurant and through a door.

"What's going on?" I whispered at you, looking around at the other people in the restaurant. A few of them were staring at us.

"I don't know," you said uncomfortably, staring in the direction the waiter had disappeared.

A man emerged from the door, wearing a suit and tie and a snooty expression. I felt your grip tighten slightly as he approached us, tall and lanky with greased back hair. My stomach clenched.

"Gentlemen," he drawled at us, looming over our table, "I am the manager. You wanted to speak to me?" He certainly wasn't French, a southern accent making his words twang through the managerial drivel.

You let go of my hand and straightened your jacket. "Yes, we were just asked to leave. Why is that, exactly?"

He said the same thing as the waiter, that we'd been too affectionate or whatever.

"But I just kissed his hand!" I said incredulously. "Who complained about that?" I looked around the restaurant to see if I could spot this so-called _valued customer._

"Yes, well, perhaps you'd better keep your hands to yourself in future," he flicked his gaze at you, and I saw your eyes widen. "We take complaints very seriously, and strive to maintain customer satisfaction. You are causing discomfort to other diners."

I opened my mouth to shout curses at him, but you held up a hand, taking a controlled breath. "I'm sorry for any discomfort we might have caused. It won't happen again, I assure you, but we'd like to get on with our meal, if that's okay." You looked up at him steadily, reading his reaction.

"I'm afraid it's not okay, and I will ask you again, please vacate the premises." As he said it, he looked down at you like you were something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I think that's when we both began to realise there was something not quite right about this.

"As I said, it won't happen again. I don't see why we have to leave."

His professionalism fell away as he flexed his jaw and spoke with hissing malice. "Listen, you're lucky we didn't throw you out as soon as you set foot in here. This a respectable restaurant, we don't tolerate your _type."_

Oh. Now it made sense.

I saw your eyebrows rise in disbelief. Very calmly, you got to your feet, buttoning your jacket and staring him straight in the face. Well, as straight as you could, he was so much taller than you it was difficult. "So the fact that my date is male makes this restaurant less _respectable,_ does it?"

"As I said, we've received a complaint about you from one of our most valued customers, and quite frankly I don't blame them. People are trying to eat. They don't want to have to witness the likes of _you_."

I felt anger flare up inside me, wishing my glare could burn a hole right through him. Looking around the room, there was a middle-aged woman staring daggers at us. I bet it was her.

You blinked at him, your expression neutral but your hands curled into fists. "Look, we-"

"Wait a second," he interrupted, narrowing his eyes at us. "I know you from somewhere. You're in that band, aren't you?"

 _Shit._ Why the fuck did it have to be him, of all people, that recognised us? Fucking Chicago.

You didn't say anything, just glanced at me nervously, holding your breath.

He looked you up and down. "So you're the one who screeches into a microphone and calls it music?"

"I-"

"It's amazing how you can lose so much weight and _still_ be fat."

That was it. I jumped from my seat and flew to your side, your face flushed bright red and your jaw clenched tight. The whole restaurant had now gone completely silent, their eyes trained on us like snipers. I didn't say anything in case I lost control and ripped his smug face right off for what he said to you, so I just folded my arms and snarled.

He smirked, knowing he'd struck a nerve. You took a slow breath, keeping your voice level. "I hardly think personal insults are relevant. Let's not be childish about this. You wouldn't want to cause discomfort to the diners," you said lightly, tilting your head to one side. I bit back a smile, silently cheering.

His mouth twitched, eyes cold. "Indeed. Anyway, I'll have the waiter get your bill, if you'd like to make your way out."

You frowned. "Our bill? You must be mistaken, you can't possibly think we're going to pay to be humiliated like this."

"You-"

"No. Come on, Pete, let's go." You grabbed my hand, making sure people could see, and started to lead me through the maze of tables. I could feel a lot of pairs of eyes on us.

"Fine," the manager spat, "don't you dare set foot in here again."

You turned to face him. "Oh, don't worry, we won't. And neither will any of the people who read about this in the newspapers."

He recoiled like a snake stung by a scorpion. I didn't hide my smile this time, nodding at him slowly to let him know that _yeah, that's right, he's fucking serious._ A couple of the people sitting at the tables smiled too.

We marched out of the restaurant, into the foyer bit where the waiters were hovering, staring at us. The one who'd served us ran and opened the door, looking at us apologetically. You gave him a sad smile and a ten dollar bill as we stepped out into the cold night air. I should've guessed you'd never leave without tipping.

You kept walking until we were well out of the sight of anyone in the restaurant, staying silent and breathing heavily. Then you stopped, letting go of my hand and pressing your fingers into your eyes.

"Are - are you alright?" I asked softly, putting an arm lightly round your shoulders and guiding you to the side of the pavement so we weren't in the way of people.

You nodded, but when you looked up I swear I saw the shine of tears in your eyes. "I just...I can't believe that happened."

"I know, I mean, it's 2012, for fuck's sake. Fucking dickheads." Anger tightened in my chest again, I swear I never wanted to hit anybody more than that pathetic excuse for a manager. "You fucking _told_ him, though. That was pretty cool," I smiled, poking you in the shoulder. "You really gonna tell the papers?"

"Fuck yes, I'm not letting them get away with that. All those press contacts will finally come in handy. We'll remain anonymous, mind you." You tried to smile, but it faltered and died. Your hands were still shaking as you dug them into your eyes again, slumping against the wall and sighing slowly.

"Hey, come here," I said, softly as I could, before draping my arms around you in an awkward hug. You melted into me, though, wrapping your arms round my waist and burying your face in my neck. I rubbed your back slowly, trying to ignore the fact that this was horrifically reminiscent of what we'd been two years ago. "You wanna go home?"

But you stomped on my worries when you pulled back, taking a deep breath and sticking your chin out. "You know what? No. They're not gonna ruin this fucking date, not on my watch. We didn't even get pudding! I'm gonna get you pudding if it kills me."

I grinned, unable to take my eyes off you as you linked your arm with mine and marched us towards your car, perched on the kerb.

I had no idea what you had planned as you sped down the highway, your eyes trained on the road and your jaw set like stone. You didn't speak at all, just left me to wonder where the hell we were headed.

After a long period of silence, you pulled into the parking lot of a block of flats, braking a bit too hard and knocking me out of my stupour. You opened the door and looked at me expectantly.

"So...is this where you're staying?" I asked as I clambered out the car, staring up at the towering building.

"Yep," you said shortly, beckoning me to follow you towards the double glass doors.

"I thought you said you didn't wanna go home?"

"I know. We're not."

I waited for you to elaborate, but you didn't. You just punched in the code and pulled me through the doors, then grabbed my shoulders and turned to me.

"Stay here. I'll text you when you can come up."

"Where are you going?"

You just smiled and backed away from me, tapping your nose. Then you turned and dashed up the stairs, keeping a hand on your hat so it didn't fall off.

I gazed after you, a confused grin tugging at my mouth. I tried to be mad at you for leaving me in an empty stairwell, but I was too excited to keep that up. _What the hell is he up to?_

After a few minutes of standing awkwardly inside the doorway, I sat down on the stairs, pulling out my phone and waiting for it to buzz. The low lighting and eerie silence was starting to freak me out.

I'd just about started to imagine what I'd do if a crazy murderer attacked me when I felt my hand vibrate.

_Now._

That was all it said. You're a man of few words, aren't you?

I started up the stairs all the same, grateful for the stronger lights and the lull of movement inside the flats. It was only then I realised I had no idea where I was supposed to be going.

 _What flat no. r u?_ I texted clumsily as I tried to harness the power of x-ray vision to see which door was yours.

_Just keep going._

Right. Okay. Was that supposed to be some kind of motivational advice, or did you literally mean keep going? Keep going where? Going up?

I decided that was my best bet, and hurried up the stairs, checking each set of doors just in case you were standing outside one of them. You weren't, though, so I kept climbing.

Until at last, there was nowhere left to climb. Only one doorway was up here, with no number on it. It was hanging open slightly, and I could feel air on my face as I got nearer to it.

I pushed it open. And, lo and behold, there you were, sitting in the middle of a pile of blankets and pillows, grinning at me. I saw you before I even noticed the night sky around you, registered the fact that I'd reached the roof of the building.

"Hey," I breathed, one hand still on the door.

"Hey," you smiled shyly, "you wanna come join?" You patted the pile of pillows next to you.

I didn't need to be told twice, bouncing toward you and falling down beside you, unable to decide whether I wanted to look at you or the expanse of stars and city lights ahead of us. I decided on you.

"Sorry, it's not exactly gourmet but it's the best I could do," you gestured to the space in front of us, where there was a plate of Oreos and two frothy hot chocolates.

"Hot chocolate," I laughed, "it's been years since I've had hot chocolate."

You frowned. "If you don't like it I can get you something else, I just-"

"No, no, I love it, I only haven't had it in a while." I never went near hot chocolate after we broke up. It reminded me too much of you.

Now, though, I nearly knocked the mug over in my haste to grab it, feeling the heat through my hands and not caring that it burnt my tongue as I swallowed. And holy shit, it tasted just as it always had.

"Fucking hell," I slurped, "this is like...wow."

You giggled at me. "You got a moustache," you spluttered, pointing at my top lip.

I licked it off quickly, then scowled at you. "Hey, you got a moustache too!"

Blushing, you pawed at it with the back of your hand, trying not to laugh through your mouthful of chocolate, then groaning when your glasses steamed up from the heat.

I grabbed them off your face and rubbed at the lenses, ignoring your noises of protest.

"No, you'll make them all smudgy!"

"Nah, I won't," I asserted. I've cleaned your glasses enough times to know how to not leave smudges. "You underestimate my spectacle-expertise."

You huffed at me, screwing up your nose as I placed them back on your face, trying not to poke you in the eye.

"Smudgeless?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Smudgeless," you admitted, pushing them up your nose.

We sat in silence for a while, sipping at our drinks and ploughing our way through the Oreos as we listened to the sounds of the city. The rooftop wasn't huge, the building the doorway was set into housing whirring machinery and taking up most of the space, but there was a good few square metres of room, low walls allowing us to take in the view. It was quite beautiful, actually.

When the mugs and the plate were all empty, and our stomachs were full, I heard you sigh, falling back onto the pile of pillows you'd arranged.

"I'm sorry tonight got so fucked up," you said wistfully, staring at the sky.

"Wasn't your fault. It was nowhere near your fault," I replied, touching your arm lightly.

"I know, I just...y'know, it's our first date, and I wanted it to be just right."

I snorted. "Since when do dates ever go right for us? I had you throwing up when I first took you out."

You thought for a second. "Oh yeah! I remember. It's fine, I only puked, like, three times," you laughed, patting my hand.

"Exactly, so don't worry. This is great, way better than that snooty restaurant. The eggs were underdone, anyway." You giggled at that, shutting your eyes and putting your hands behind your head. "And listen," I carried on, just wanting to make damn sure you were alright, "I'm so sorry for what that guy said. You know it's not true, right?"

"Yeah. I'm done holding onto stuff assholes say. Doesn't help anything."

And that's everything I wanted to hear. You couldn't see my smile, but it widened all the same.

I made use of the fact you had your eyes closed and stared at your face for ages, watching how the soft light of the building and the moonlight played on your features, casting shadows under your brow bone and gliding over the curve of your cheeks.

"Hey," I wondered absently, "if this is our first date, does that mean we haven't had our first kiss yet?"

You opened your eyes, pushing yourself up on your elbows and smiling slightly. "I s'pose so," you pondered. "Was that a hint?"

"Yes," I grinned.

Sitting up properly, you licked your lips as if in preparation. "Okay, so...how d'you wanna do this?"

I pretended to think for a moment, like I hadn't been planning this in my mind for a long while, then patted my lap.

You groaned. "Aw, really? Do you really wanna do it like that?"

"Come on, it's our first one, it has to be perfect," I whined. "Please sit on my lap? It'll be cute as hell."

"Fine, fine," you sighed, crawling over to me. "The things I do in the name of cuteness."

I crossed my legs loosely, leaving a nice little butt-sized gap for you to sit in, then watched as you wrapped your arms awkwardly around my neck and plonked down in my lap heavily.

"Ow!" I exclaimed as you pretty much crushed my legs, letting out more protest as you tried to get your feet round my waist. "Hey - ouch - Patrick, what are you - ow, stop it!"

"Okay, I'm done," you said, finally comfortable in my lap, your legs wrapped round me and your hands clutching my shoulders to stop yourself toppling backwards. We were really close now, our chests almost touching and your breath hot on my face.

"Cool," I said, nodding and almost knocking you out. You giggled and your eyes lit up, your lips inches from mine, and I was about to claim them. _Holy fuck, I'm gonna kiss him again._

When I leaned in, though, all I felt was your nose bumping into mine, 'cause we'd both tilted the same way, and when I went to tilt the other way, so did you, our lips not quite touching as our noses battled each other. I couldn't help but giggle at how ridiculous we must've looked.

You pulled back, laughing. "Okay, okay, you tilt right and I'll tilt left."

"Wait, your right or my right?"

"Your right."

"But if you tilt to your left then we'll end up nose-kissing again," I pointed out, biting back a grin.

"No, no, I tilt to _your_ left. So my right."

"So we both go right?"

"Right," you nodded.

"Was that a confirmation or a direction?"

You groaned, pinching your nose. "Ugh, okay, you go that way and I'll go this way," you pointed in opposite directions, and I understood.

"Okay. Got it."

I leaned in again.

"Wait!" you yelped.

"What is it now?"

"Glasses," you said, taking them off and placing them to one side. "Would've got in the way."

I deadpanned. "Anything else? You wanna take your hat off too?"

You thought for a second, just to annoy me. "Yeah, go on then. It can't hurt." You tossed your fedora in the direction of your glasses and ran a hand through your hair. "'Kay."

"You good?"

"Yep, promise," you said innocently, blinking your big eyes at me.

"Right, let's try this again."

Your eyes fluttered shut and I leaned towards you, letting my own eyelids fall too. Your heat drew closer, until suddenly, our lips touched.

And my god, I'd forgotten.

My whole being seemed to lift as we began to kiss, gently and cautiously, your bottom lip fitting perfectly between my own, plump and soft as the pillows underneath us. I sucked on it lightly, placing my hands on your waist to steady you as you wrapped your arms round my neck, getting more confident with each second that passed.

All the memories of you, every moment I'd tried to black out, they all came to the surface, how to kiss you just right, how to touch you in the way you liked best, how to make you gasp and your cheeks flush and your heart race.

You certainly remembered how to do that to me. Your lips parted to let my tongue in, burning breaths heating the cold night air as I reminded myself of the mouth I knew better than my own, and you threaded your fingers through my hair, pulling just enough to make me groan in the back of my throat.

I couldn't help but kiss you harder, slipping a hand underneath the coarse material of your jacket and feeling the warmth of your skin through your shirt, grazing my fingers along your soft stomach before sliding them up your chest and pulling lightly at the tie around your neck, bringing you closer. I brought my other hand to your neck, tracing along your jawline, cupping your cheek and stroking circles on your perfect skin with the pad of my thumb. You sighed into my mouth, filling my lungs with your air, and my heart too.

We kissed slowly on the rooftop for a while, pressed tightly together, the sounds of our slick lips weaving with the hum of the city below, moving more and more in time as we sank back into each other. In those moments, it was hard to believe we'd ever been apart.

Eventually, we gently touched lips one last time, before just sort of collapsing against each other. You rested your head on my shoulder and I hugged you close, falling backwards into the pillows and taking you with me.

"Legs," you mumbled, and I lifted my hips, letting you wriggle your feet out from under me, then fling them down next to mine.

I fiddled with your hair for a little while, it looked pretty in the dull moonlight, before I felt a chill over my skin. It was only then that I registered it was like eleven o'clock on a February night in Chicago.

"Patrick," I said softly, "it's really fucking cold out here."

You giggled, sitting up abruptly. "Come on, I'll take you home."

We got slowly to our feet and gathered up the mugs and plates and pillows, our arms full as we staggered back down the stairs. Your flat is fairly near the top, so we didn't have far to go. It's a cute place, or it could be if someone as sinfully messy as you didn't live there. You don't even have much stuff, this is only temporary, I don't see how one person can make _so much chaos._ Don't worry about that, though, I'll soon annoy you by moving all your stuff to a place that is not the floor and does not pose a trip hazard.

We drove back to my house, not speaking much, but smiling every time we did. You even walked me to my door, thanking me for a great night and asking when you might get to see me again, even though we both knew we'd see each other at practice next week.

Just before you left, though, I stopped you, grabbing your hand and turning you back to me.

"Patrick, wait," I said suddenly, impulsively, "will you be my boyfriend?"

It was childish and kinda stupid, but I quite like labels, if I'm honest, they avoid misunderstandings. And it was worth asking just to see you smile and blush and nod, and then we kissed on the doorstep and I got butterflies all over again.

I watched you drive away, waving until your car disappeared into the night. When I shut my door behind me, I barely had time to switch the lights on before I slid down to the floor, giggling like a schoolgirl and sighing just thinking about the evening we'd had.

I'd like to say I didn't run round the kitchen squealing, but I'd be lying, and I don't like lying anymore. So you know I'm telling the truth when I say that I'm _so_ looking forward to getting to know you again, getting to touch you and to hold you, starting to learn how you've changed and how I've changed to match.

All in all, homophobic assholes aside, it was pretty perfect, as dates go. We got a free dinner out of it, after all. Perfectly imperfect. Just like you, I suppose.

We've got our first actual practice tomorrow. God knows how that's gonna go. I've been playing my ass off, trying to remember the old songs, and guess what, I can actually kinda play bass now. I wrote some new lyrics too, before I gave up and just wrote this. I'm not even writing them to figure out my feelings anymore, I just like writing about you. Is that creepy? Ah, fuck it, I don't care.

The thing is, all the worrying, maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe I should just roll with it. I met a cute guy I really like, we went on a date, we wanna see each other again. Voilà, I have a boyfriend. Yeah, that boyfriend just so happens to be my ex who changed my life and broke my heart a lot of times, but whatever. That's not this. This is new.

And so it begins.

From Pete xx


	49. Chapter 49

Dear Patrick,

Lots of things have happened since our last date. I say lots, I mean, like two things, and both of them happened yesterday. One was a lot more fun than the other.

So you know how we used to be in that band that won awards and had fans and stuff? Yeah. We suck.

Like, not even aw-don't-be-so-hard-on-yourself kind of suck, we really, truly suck. A lot.

We had our first ever actual practice yesterday, and it went bad. If I wasn't playing bass, I would've put my fingers in my ears. We were all over the place, Joe kept stopping 'cause he didn't know which part of the song came next, and you'd shout at him, then you'd fuck the words up and he'd shout at you, and we couldn't get the sounds to go like they used to be, then the mic went weird and we pretty much gave up.

Me and Andy just sort of watched everything go to shit, because we'd actually practised, rolling our eyes as you kids squabbled over chord progressions.

After several attempts at Sugar _,_ we decided to call it a day, otherwise somebody was gonna end up with a black eye.

We started to pack up, as much as we needed to anyway, we were gonna be back there tomorrow, solemnly turning off amps and placing guitars back in their cases. We were at Andy's house, 'cause he was the only one with a drum kit set up, and also the only one who was willing to have his basement subjected to four short, angry men.

Me and you left the other two down there while we headed up to the hall, deflated and sighing.

"I just can't believe we were that bad," you'd shrugged as you put your shoes on. "That was some class-A shit right there."

"I know. But, I'm sure it'll be better tomorrow, when people are a bit less...tetchy." By _sure,_ I meant very very unsure, by _better_ I meant hopefully slightly less completely crap, by _tetchy_ I meant ready to rip each other's faces off and by _people_ I meant you.

You ran your fingers through your hair, growling. "But we're awful! No-one remembers anything, it's ridiculous!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, me and Andy remember pretty much everything."

"Oh, just shift the blame why don't you," you tutted, wrestling with your jacket.

"I dunno, I just think that as the singer, it would be good if you knew at least _some_ of the words."

"Shut up! I do know the words," you insisted, batting my arm.

"Mumbling incoherent sounds into the microphone and hoping nobody notices does _not_ count as knowing the words."

"Well I – listen, you – ugh," you finished, giving up on whatever sentence that was gonna be.

Laughing at you, I gave you a pat on the head and pranced further down the hall, avoiding your swatting hands. "Get back here, you ass," you snapped, chasing after me.

I turned around just in time to catch you as you hurtled into me, cuddling you tight as you attempted to exert your wrath.

"Hey – Pete – let go, I'm trying to be angry – Pete!"

Squeezing you one last time, I put you back on the floor, smiling angelically into your scowl. "Hey, cheer up, or I'll kiss you."

Your glare deepened, but I saw you bite back a grin. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to kiss me."

Sighing, I pecked you lightly on the nose, my fingers finding your forearms and running across your wrists to hold your hands. To be honest, I was amazed I'd managed to make it through the whole practice without jumping on you.

Dropping the humour, I went back to my usual besotted boyfriend status, playing with your fingers and stroking the backs of your hands with my thumbs. "Hey, can we go out later? I feel a second date coming on."

"Oh, do you now? What're you planning?" You narrowed your eyes at me, a smile pulling at your lips.

"I dunno, just something small, like...oh, we could go on a walk together. Like, in the evening, through the city and stuff, with the lights and the stars. What d'you think?" I bounced on my heels like a little kid, looking at you hopefully.

You thought for a second. "Hmm. Okay. I was gonna say no, 'cause, like, exercise and stuff, but you made it sound pretty, so hell yeah, let's do it!"

My face grinned all by itself, and I cheered quietly, lifting your hands up and waving them around in celebration. You gave me a _you're-such-a-dork-why-do-I-even-know-you_ look, but you didn't snatch your hands back.

"Hey, can I have proper kiss now?" you pouted, peeking at me from under your eyelashes.

"So demanding..." I tutted, but pulled you closer to me, grabbing your hips and letting you wrap your arms round my neck, our lips meeting gently. It wasn't too soft or too rough, our tongues lightly meeting and keeping a gentle rhythm. If only we'd been this in time when we were trying to play the music. 

I swear kissing you is like an out-of-body experience, I forget who I am, where I am. For instance, I'd completely forgotten that we were in Andy's house, and that he and Joe had been making their way upstairs while we were making out against the hallway wall. I didn't notice their talking, or the fact that they'd stopped talking.

Until I heard a cough.

I froze, and so did you, your lips stilling and your eyes opening slowly as if you were trying to delay time. We both turned our heads slowly towards the noise, our arms still coiled tightly around each other.

Andy and Joe had stopped dead in the middle of the hall, staring at us blankly. I felt shock jump through me and pushed you away as you sank down from your toes, taking your hands off me and stepping to one side, arms behind your back and your face slowly turning the colour of ripe tomatoes. Ducking your head, you wiped at your slightly swollen mouth and adjusted your hat. 

No-one said anything. 

We all just sorta stared at each other, waiting for someone to do something. My eyes were trained on Joe, bracing myself for a broken nose.

Slowly, Andy turned to Joe, an eyebrow raised and a hand held out. Joe shook his head at us, then dug a hand in his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, sighing and slapping it into Andy's outstretched palm. Then he marched off to get his coat from the lounge.

Andy laughed, waggling the fifty at us before pocketing it. With a smile and a wink, he headed off after Joe.

Right. Well.

Not even realising I'd been holding my breath, I breathed out, blinking in Andy's direction like he'd just shone a bright light in my face.

"Hey, we're not dead," you laughed faintly.

And that was it. No raised voices, no new scars. We really have changed.

So me and you just pranced out of there, unscathed, and headed home. I don't think either of us could believe our luck.

-

After that, I felt like I could do anything. Hey, Jesus, you might be able to walk on water and all that shit, but can you avoid a black eye off your protective band mates and gain their approval of a relationship which actually literally nearly killed someone multiple times in the past? Ha, didn't think so.

I hadn't even really thought about how Joe would even react, and now I didn't have to. Joe was apparently okay with it, Andy was apparently so okay with it he'd decided to bet on it, I could tell in the way you blushed when I looked at you that you were okay with it, and god knows okay is an understatement when it comes to me. For the first time ever, we can have a relationship without fighting anyone for it.

Anyway, with that out the way, I can write about what I _really_ wanna write about.

-

The date was amazing. Like, it was with you, so obviously it was gonna be amazing, but I couldn't help feeling that it was my idea and I was in charge so it was my responsibility if it went horribly wrong. What if the cars were so loud we couldn't hear each other? What if we got mugged? What if we got stabbed? What if we got mugged then stabbed then run over? 

I needn't have worried, though. It'd been ages since you'd been in Chicago, and I could tell you missed it to death. You bathed in the dazzling lights and walked to the beat of the passing cars, talking and laughing with eyes brighter than the city itself, our arms wound together along with our smiles. I couldn't see the stars that night, but with you beside me, I didn't need to.

We talked about nothing, and everything. Once we'd managed to persuade ourselves that we could be a somewhat good band again, you were off, fantasising about our new record. It only exists in your imagination, but watching your crazy mind work and your hand gestures nearly knock a few people out as we walked, I wanted it to exist in reality. I don't even really remember what you were saying, just how you said it, and how it made me wanna find a way to translate you into words. But I've been trying to do that for eleven years now, and I've never been able to.

At the end of the night, I found myself completely infatuated, reduced to a lumbering idiot with stars in his eyes. It comes in waves, I guess, and this time, my logical brain had decided to abandon me completely. I'm kinda glad it did, though.

I walked you to your door, and we kept talking. I had no idea where all this conversational material was coming from, surely we'd got through everything, surely this is where we'd hit the awkward silences, but apparently not.

Then we started kissing. I dunno, it was just supposed to be a kinda goodbye gesture, but a peck on the cheek turned into a peck on the lips, then my hands on your waist and your fingers in my hair and five minutes later we were still there, clasping at each other like we had nowhere else to be.

In fact, the way your hands pulled at my hair, and stroked at my neck, the way you'd gasp slightly in between kisses, the way you'd sigh when I ran my fingers across your hips, it made my thoughts run wild. And I soon had a rather noticeable, uh, problem.

For a while, I was pretty sure it was well contained within my too-tight jeans, but then it got kinda painful on the zipper and I realised maybe I had to deal with it sooner rather than later.

"Uh...I better go now," I'd slurred through slick lips, pulling away from you and discretely pushing my thankfully long sweater down.

You unwound your hands from me and stepped away, but not before you'd run a palm down my chest which really hadn't helped my downstairs situation. "Okay. Yeah, I'd better be getting to bed too. Tonight was really great," you grinned shyly, pulling the sleeves of your cardigan over your hands. _Oh, great, yeah, be cute, make me want you even more, that's just fucking brilliant._

"Yeah, it was. Okay bye!" I pretty much yelled at you, waving and smiling as non-creepily as I could, I turned away. As much as I'd have liked to stare at you a bit more, I had a job to do, in the crudest sense of the phrase.

And for a couple seconds, I thought I'd got away with it. 

Suddenly, you appeared in front of me.

"You could stay, you know," you purred, looking up at me through your fanned lashes and sneaking your teeth over your bottom lip. _Oh my fucking god is he suggesting what I think he's suggesting?_

"Uh...I...uh..." I lost the sentence in your glittering eyes. "O – okay," I finally managed to stammer, wondering if it would be socially acceptable to throw myself on top of you.

I didn't have to, though. You kissed me again, but this time, it was different. It wasn't _hey we're a cute couple let's kiss on the doorstep for a while 'cause we're cute, look at our cuteness,_ it was slow and full of promise, and it wasn't meant to satisfy me, but to make me hunger for more.

Running both your hands over my chest, you pressed your thigh between my legs, swallowing the moan that leaked from my lips. It took all the self-control I had not to buck my hips into you and embarrass myself even further.

It didn't seem to put you off, though, you just kept doing that thing you do where you make me want you so bad so effortlessly, grazing your fingers across my arms, pushing back against my lips. Tingles sizzled over my skin, and even under my several layers of clothing, your touch was electrifying.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" you asked suddenly, pulling away and looking me straight in the face.

I nearly laughed, it was such dorky way to say it. I'd become used to a suggestive look or a slurred _wanna fuck?_ and I couldn't help but smile at the way you'd been so aggressively clear about it.

You saw my grin and gave me a look of mock hurt, before shrugging, "well, do you?"

My pants pretty much spoke for me in answer to that question. "Yeah. I really do." Even the mention of the word _sex_ had sent heat to the pit of my stomach.

"Okay. Cool," you nodded, beaming at me, your thigh still pressed against my crotch in the most frustrating way. "Do you wanna do it here, or inside?"

I raised an eyebrow, looking around at the corridor stairwell thing we were standing in, your door still hanging open. "Well, the grey walls and used chewing gum in this place are very pretty, but maybe inside would be better?"

You scowled. "I was just _asking_. Now get the hell in here."

I barely had time to laugh at you before you grabbed my arm and pulled me over the threshold. As soon as you'd shut the door, you pushed me up against it, smashing your lips against mine and gripping my forearms with fervent hunger.

 _Oh my god. We're gonna fuck. I'm gonna see him naked again, he's gonna see me, I haven't fucked anyone in ages so this is gonna be amazing whatever happens._ It was really difficult not to grin against your lips.

We kissed violently and passionately, it was like your mouth was an apple and I hadn't eaten in weeks; I bit at your bottom lip and pulled as hard as I dared, but it must have paid off 'cause you let out a deep, low moan, your hips twitching against mine.

The layers of clothing between us suddenly seemed almost offensive; it might have been cold outside, but it certainly wasn't now, with your breath on my face and your body pressed close to mine. You clawed at my sweater, tugging the hem up to my chest and letting me yank it over my head before reattaching our lips.

Suddenly, your hands weren't gripping my arms anymore, they were dangerously close to my hips, one sneaking under the hem of my t-shirt and the other wandering to my thighs, brushing lightly at the bulge in my pants. My knees buckled slightly, and I felt you smirk against my lips. You knew exactly what you were doing to me, didn't you?

My t-shirt was dumped on the floor along with my sweater, and I was completely exposed to you. And you were gonna take full advantage of that. Before I knew it, your mouth was on me, sucking and biting and sending me into a blissful agony that made my toes curl in my shoes. You licked at my tattoos, tracing them with your tongue and pausing every so often to nibble little marks into my skin, making me whine shamelessly, head dropping back to rest against the door.

I finally decided I couldn't take any more of this pant-wearing lark, and grabbed hold of your hips, pushing you clumsily down the hall in search of somewhere I could throw your body across. You seemed to catch my drift, and we stumbled through your lounge and towards your bedroom in a mess of yearning kisses and tangled limbs.

Nothing else seemed to exist anymore. Everything around us was just there for our own benefit, the soft carpet to entice our feet out of their shoes, the warm air to show us that clothes were completely unnecessary. Soon, all I had on were the things I wanted most to be rid of; my jeans, yet somehow you'd managed to keep hold of everything except your hat. _Well, I'm gonna have to put that right immediately._

Pushing you down on the bed, I pulled at your cardigan, letting you wriggle your arms out of the sleeves and toss it away somewhere. Hearing the _thunk_ of your shoes as they were kicked off, I got to work on your shirt, disconnecting our lips so I could see what I was doing. Buttons are fucking hard to undo, though, especially when you're trying to control a raging boner and a racing mind, and I yanked at them fruitlessly. But then, you started to help me, your fingers nimbly prising your shirt open, button by button.

I watched in amazement. In all the times we'd fucked before, you'd never, ever taken off your own shirt. You'd sooner jump into a pit of poisonous snakes than do that. I'd always do it for you, with gentle hands and reassuring glances. But _this._ The way your eyes shone bright and your hands worked so quick, it was mesmerising. Soon, your shirt was fully off, and my god, are you hot. 

For a moment, I just had to sit back and look at you. It was weird, I guess, seeing you all slim, less pad on your chest and your stomach, your hip bones creeping out from your jeans, shadows of your ribs showing when you breathed in. It was so different to everything I'd been used to, but it didn't matter 'cause it floored me all the same.

"Fuck..."I breathed, sitting on your splayed thighs and running my fingers over your breastbone, feeling you jerk underneath me as I brushed across your nipples, pink and perky and mouthwatering. You blushed a little bit, smiling shyly as I gazed at the beautiful creature laid out just for me.

Giving you a grin bigger than the bulge in my pants, I started to kiss you, down your throat and across your collarbone, pronounced and delicious, flicking my teeth out every so often and hearing you whine wantonly.

"Jeans. Off. Now," you ordered breathlessly, and I didn't need to be told twice; I undid both our pants and yanked them off consecutively, before climbing back on top of you and grinding our hips together in a stream of curses.

Suddenly, you pulled me close to you, wrapping your hands around my neck and kissing me hard. Then, you roughly flipped us over, pushing me into the mattress and bracing your arms either side of me.

"Is this okay?" you asked in between kisses, looking down at me with wide eyes.

It took me a moment to process what you were asking. _Wait. He wants to fuck me? You bet your god diggity dang bucket it's okay._

"Yeah, fuck yeah," I breathed, a shiver running through me. I hadn't been fucked by many people before; Mikey had done it a fair bit, but I generally preferred being on top. But right now, you had complete control over me, and I  _loved_ it. 

I watched desperately as you hopped off the bed to find lube and condoms – safety first, kids – seeing your ass wobble, the muscles in your legs flex. You were gonna have to hurry the fuck up, 'cause I'd been practically gagging for it for a while now and I didn't know how much longer I could keep it up.

How I managed not to give in to release, I'll never know. The feel of your hands between my thighs, the way you mouthed at me through the fabric of my boxers before yanking them off, your fingers pushing into me and sending shots of pain and adrenaline racing through me, until finally, _finally,_ you were fucking me, letting me adjust to you before slowly rolling your hips, cursing as you did.

And jesus christ, I'd never felt anything like this. In the past, I'd found it uncomfortable, painful being stretched open like that, all sticky and weird and unnatural. But this was different. I don't know what the hell you did, but there was nothing unnatural about it at all, everything seemed hot as fuck, the burn just making it better. 

I gripped your hips tight, digging my fingers into the soft flesh and watching your body move as if it was a firework display, the heat in my stomach building and flowing in my veins, my head spinning. With every thrust, you sent waves of pleasure through me, and I knew I wasn't gonna last much longer. You knew exactly how to do this just right, how to make me buck up into your touch, how to pull long, low whines from my throat, how to drag your lips over my skin and make me sob shamelessly.

I couldn't wait any longer. You must've known that too, because you started to jerk me roughly, thrusting in time with your hand, tipping me over the edge. My god, you know how to fuck. 

 And that was it, the orgasm hit me, hard, taking all the breath from my lungs and leaving me a moaning mess underneath you. You were quick to follow, cursing loudly as you shuddered through your high and I swear I've never seen anything quite as beautiful as that.

You gasped for air, sweat glistening on your skin. I dropped my legs from your waist and let you pull out, falling down onto the bed beside me.

"Well," I panted, poking you in the arm, "that was fun."

You laughed and shoved me back, "You're such an idiot."

"Says Mr. _Do you want to have sex with me?"_ I mocked, putting on a childishly innocent voice.

"Okay, fine," you admitted, "I'm an idiot too."

"We can be idiots together," I giggled, wiping my slick hair from my face.

And so there we were, lying side by side, two happy idiots. I wouldn't have it any other way.

-

After that, we just sorta dozed for ages, or at least I did. I let you potter about, cleaning yourself up and gathering our clothes, making me jump when you suddenly attacked me with a wet towel 'cause I was gross.

When I was all clean, I crawled under the covers, feeling the familiar post-sex ache in my muscles. You emerged from the bathroom and I made grabby hands at you, patting the sheets beside me.

Soon, we were wrapped up in each other, your head against my chest and our legs tangled. I took the opportunity to explore your naked body, to reacquaint myself with it in a way that I hadn't during the fucking, gently and curiously, cupping your butt in my hands, stroking the slight pudge of your stomach, gliding my hands over your thighs. You didn't protest, just snuggled into me further, wrapping your arms tight around my waist and letting me touch you.

I'd forgotten how good it is to just hold you in my arms, how lovely and cuddly you are, how your hair fluffs up when I breathe into it and your lips part when you drift off to sleep. You're really, really beautiful.

 

I'm back at home now, lying on the sofa on my front with my legs in the air, butterflies still flitting about in my stomach. I can't quite believe I just had sex with you; I can't deny I'd thought about it, you've been the subject of my fantasies for several weeks now, but I didn't think I'd get to see you like that for ages. And _you_ fucked _me._ I got fucked by Patrick Stump. I'd like that on a t-shirt, please. 

And you looked so comfortable, too. There was no apprehension, no hesitation, more just a _fuck it, let's fuck_ attitude towards the whole thing, you kissed me hard and held me tight and made me feel so fucking good. When exactly did you become a sex god, may I ask?

I've gotta go back to Andy's in a minute. I stayed the night at yours, and woke up in your arms. I would've stayed, we could've gone to practice together, but I really needed a shower and my clothes stank to high heaven so I kissed your sleepy lips goodbye and slipped out of bed. Your blue eyes peeked at me from under the covers, a smile touching them as I stumbled around for pants and shoes, your hand waving me a farewell as I wandered out of your bedroom. It took all my concentration not to fall down the stairs to your flat, I was grinning so hard.

It's stupid, cause I saw so much of you last night, but I can't wait to see you again. You make me so excited, I smile at strangers in the street and laugh too hard at stuff on the TV just to release some of the cloud of happiness in my lungs. 

I better wrap up now, otherwise I'll be late, and if I'm late, I won't be able to tease you for being late, like you always are. Maybe we'll be less crap today, you never know. And hopefully, _somebody_ will have learnt the words to at least one of the songs. There's hope for Fall Out Boy yet. 

Thanks for an amazing night, though. Two dates in, and I'm already head-over-heels. 

I really like you, Patrick. 

From Pete xx


	50. Chapter 50

Dear Patrick,

I think I might be falling in love with you.

I'm not sure yet. I've been cautious about this, didn't want to throw my heart at you like I did last time. But I can feel it. When I'm with you, I get this, like, feeling. I don't even know how to describe it, I guess it's as if my resting happiness level just lifts, and my head clears and my heart decides it's gotta do some parkour.

It's become more than a crush, too. I _know_ you're beautiful, that's obvious, I've known that since I first met you. I know it every time you walk into a room, every time you smile, hell, even when you're just doing normal person things like laundry or washing up, I just find myself thinking, _fuck, he's pretty._ But, as I said, it's more than that now. It's rolling my eyes at your stupid jokes yet laughing all the same, it's giving you the last Dorito even when I want it so bad, it's looking at you and thinking, _fuck, I wanna keep this one._

The new record is, slowly, coming together. It's actually _fun,_ too, which I don't think any of us were expecting. I'm so glad we got Butch to produce it, 'cause finally there's someone who actually stands a chance at winning an argument against you. Watching you and him disagree is hilarious; he's this huge six-foot-two scary-looking dude, so it's like seeing a chihuahua yapping at a rottweiler. 

But after a lot of sulking, and a lot of crossed arms and stony glares, we're getting somewhere. We can actually play stuff now, we sound like a real legit band. And at the very mention of _new songs,_ you were off, writing demos and recording bits and pieces, showing us stuff. You once turned up to my house at _four in the fucking morning_ just to ask my opinion on a chord sequence.

It's been a few months since I wrote one of these, there's a lot going on. But we're still going strong, you and me. It's weird, I mean, it's you, so of course there's gonna be stuff that reminds me of how we were before, but it feels different. I don't need you anymore, but I want you. We fight more than we did before, but maybe that's just 'cause we both put up more of a fight.

We never used to. Unhappiness would go unsaid, smiles would be faked and kisses returned but not appreciated. Now, if one of us has a problem with something, we just say it, get annoyed, then get over it. Sometimes it's stupid things, like the fact that when you finish the toilet roll, you never fucking put a new one in, so the next time I go in there, I end up stranded on the toilet seat. Other times it's more serious, like when you accidentally slept for literally the whole day and we missed the film I wanted to see, or when I accidentally deleted a file with a load of your demos in.But we soon realise that they're just honest mistakes, and move on.

Last week was probably the worst fight we've had.

It didn't seem like it was gonna be, at first. But things got out of hand faster than we could control.

-

I was planning to go see you at some point that day, actually, just to hang out or whatever, but you got to me first.

You knocked, as usual, 'cause even though you have a key to my place, it's more of a best friend security system kind of thing than a romantic milestone, and we hadn't quite got to the walking-right-into-each-other's-houses stage yet. 

I should've known, though, by the way you didn't bang the door down, and instead tapped on it lightly, that something wasn't right.

"Hey Pete!" you exclaimed when I opened the door, and suddenly, there was a Patrick attached to my lips, your fingers winding in my hair and my hands instinctively grabbing your waist.

"Mmphh..." I tried to speak through the kiss, torn between pushing you off me and pulling you closer. On this occasion, though, my head beat my heart. I took hold of your shoulders and prised your lips away from mine. "Whoa, Patrick, you okay?"

You smiled a bit too wide. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, just...wanted to see you, I guess."

"Do you want sex or something?" I questioned, laughing a bit.

"Nah, it's fine, I'm fine, I mean, maybe later or something but I don't know, I s'pose if you wanted to then we could but I just showered and I don't wanna shower again 'cause my shower's kinda broken and it keeps making these noises and then going cold for a bit and I don't like it 'cause it's like being randomly rained on and I'm worried that one day it might just stay cold and it -" you paced around me, babbling like a bubble bath, until I finally cut you off.

"Patrick, seriously, are you okay? You seem stressed," I frowned, catching your arm and pulling you into the lounge.

"No, I'm not stressed," you laughed, "I'm fine. I just thought it would be nice to pop round and see my gorgeous boyfriend." 

I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No."

"Right, good," I nodded, wandering over to the kitchen with coffee-orientated intentions.

"Okay well there is one thing."

I deadpanned at you. "What?"

"Well, okay...so, uh..." you tailed off, chewing on your lips and readjusting your hat.

"Patrick, did you do a bad thing?" I warned, like you were a guilty-looking puppy.

"No! No, I didn't do anything. I just...can – can you do something for me?" You clasped your hands in front of you and blinked at me angelically.

"Hmm," I growled, crossing my arms, "that depends on what it is."

You started pacing again. "Well, okay, so, basically, my parents called and they're like _hey Patrick, we'd love to visit you in your new place, we hope that's okay and we'll be over in two days,_ so I sort of freaked out but then I haven't seen them since I came back to Chicago so I guess I knew this was going to happen but I said that's fine and then I said I'd cook for them and now I don't know what to do so can you please help me?!"

You breathed hard, visibly stressed, looking at me like you'd just asked for CPR. "Why d'you tell your parents you'd cook? You can't cook," I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"I know! But I wanted my mum to think I'm an actual functioning adult and that's what adults do, don't they? They have dinner parties?"

I couldn't help but laugh at how flustered you'd got over this, your red cheeks and your wide eyes.

"Hey, this is serious! Please, can you help?" you yelped, taking a couple steps towards me.

"Okay, Patrick," I said, still laughing, "look, calm down. Do you want me to help you cook?" You nodded quickly. "Right. Listen, just tell me what kind of stuff they like, and we'll look up some recipes." I reached out and took your hands, playing idly with your fingers. "I'll help you prep everything before they arrive so all you gotta do is stick stuff in the oven at the right times, okay?"

"Okay..." you pondered, still biting your lips. "Yeah, okay..."

You looked worried. I'd expected a smile or a hug or something, but you just sorta stared into space, letting me bounce your fingers in my hands.

That's when I twigged. "There's something else, isn't there?" I said flatly, raising my eyebrows.

"No, no that's it. Nothing else," you said innocently. But not innocently enough.

"Patrick..." I warned, poking you in the gut.

"Okay, fine," you scowled, "I just wondered...well, I thought it would be good if maybe...you came too?"

I scoffed. "To the dinner party?"

"Yeah."

"With your parents."

"Uh...yeah," you admitted, looking up at me pleadingly.

"Are you just asking that so I'll cook the whole meal?"

You blushed. I groaned.

"Patrick, really? Come on, you can do this by yourself, easy. You'll be fine."

"No...well, it's not just that, I...I think you should meet them. Like, as my boyfriend," you said shyly, squeezing my hands a bit.

"Uh...okay, I guess?" I said cautiously, wondering if there was a catch.

"Really? That's great!" you exclaimed, bouncing up and down and grinning. There was still worry in your eyes, though.

"What, did you think I wouldn't want to?" I laughed. At the time, I was fine with it; meeting your parents was an important step in our relationship, and even though I'd already done it, I really wanted to tell someone about us 'cause I was so darn proud.

"No, no, well, I don't know, I just thought you'd be a bit harder to persuade, I guess," you shrugged. But you went right back to attacking your lips with your teeth.

I frowned at you, untangling our fingers and turning your face towards me. "What's the matter? What're you thinking about?"

"Uh...well..." you stumbled, not looking at me. Then, you screwed up your face as if a grenade was about to go off in front of you. "They...they don't like you," you said finally, breathing out.

A crowd of offended voices in my brain started to shout. _Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Stump, but I am a valuable member of our society with a wealth of culinary and horticultural knowledge, what could you possibly have against me?_ "Why?" I barked at you, folding my arms.

You didn't answer, just kept looking at me, as if waiting for the penny to drop. When it didn't, you took a deep breath. "They know about what...what you used to do."

A chill ran through me. _Shit. Oh, shit._

I swallowed, trying to keep breathing properly. "You – you told them..."

"They're my parents, Pete, I had to tell them."

"But...I..." I struggled with words, until a calmer part of my brain took over. "Okay. Okay, of course. So they know about that. But, they know about the good stuff too, so it might not be so bad. Right?" I looked at you for encouragement.

But none came. "Uh...well, I didn't tell them all of the good stuff," you said slowly, avoiding my eyes.

"What?"

"Look, I told them everything after you left me. I needed them to help me get over you, I had to focus on the bad stuff. D'you understand that?" you said quietly.

"Don't talk to me like I'm six years old, Patrick, I understand, but...oh, what about the night on the pier, you must've told them about that?"

You dropped your gaze.

"What? You – you didn't tell them, did you? Oh, this just gets better and better," I groaned, turning away from you and clawing at my hair. "Why the fuck didn't you tell them about that?"

"Because I already had to tell them I was basically an alcoholic! I didn't wanna make it worse, I didn't wanna have to tell my mum _yeah, I've been drinking myself to death and by the way, I'm getting back together with my abusive ex boyfriend!"_ you snapped, crossing your arms.

_Abusive._

It made me feel a bit faint, actually.

"Patrick...you know I'm not like that anymore."

"I-"

"I am _not_ abusive. I _was._ I _used to be._ Don't you dare use that word in the present tense."

Your eyes widened, and you took a step back from me.

I rubbed a hand across my forehead. "Is – is that what they think?"

You nodded. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to tell them in case they overreacted, so-"

"So you decided to drop me in it instead?"

"No! I wanted to wait until we were back together," you asserted, but I saw through it.

"Bullshit! You did it to save your own damn skin," I spat, flexing my jaw. "If I hadn't scraped you up off the fucking floor that time, you might still be drinking. And what about everything else? I spent years trying to look after you, to make you fucking happy while you were hurting yourself, did that all just slip your mind?"

"Oh, well, I'm _so sorry_ for inconveniencing you with my petty mental health issues," you threw back, blue eyes turning icy cold.

"Look, I'm not _blaming_ you, I-"

"You wanna talk blame? Who exactly was it that made me feel like shit in the first place?" You took a step towards me.

"Hey, don't pin it all on me!" I protested, feeling anger brewing within me. How dare you overlook everything I did for you like that?

Then I said something I should never have said. I promise, it was just 'cause I wanted to win this one, I wanted you to back down.

"It wasn't my fault you were so fucking fat."

You stopped dead.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean that."

But I couldn't undo it.

Your lips parted in horror, and I saw the shock spread through your eyes. You looked away from me, gaze darting around the room, anywhere but my face.

Then you mumbled something at the floor.

"What?" I asked, pushing back the desire to shout.

You looked at me suddenly. Your eyes shone with tears, but behind that, they were steely. "I said, _why don't you just hit me?"_

I didn't quite process it at first. "What?"

"Go on! Fucking do it! Hit me!" you yelled, your fingers curling into fists as your gaze flicked between my eyes.

It was my turn to feel shock slam into me; I recoiled from you, stepping back with my arms held out. "No, Patrick, I-"

"You know you fucking want to!" you yelled again, staying right in front of my face. Then, you grabbed my hand and held it up to your cheek. "Do it!"

I snatched my hand back, feeling tears in my own eyes. "Patrick, please-"

"Hit me! Hurt me, Pete, kick me, punch me, leave bruises all over me! Make me plead, make me cry, just like you used to, go on!" you screamed, wiping your eyes furiously.

"Stop it!" I bellowed, trying to stop myself breaking down. "You weren't the only one that got hurt! I tried to help you, but you pushed me away, you lied to me, you lied to everyone!"

"I was ill, I-"

"No, you don't realise who you hurt, you never do, you expect the whole world to revolve around you, but it doesn't! You've always been like this, every fucking record you just take charge, order everyone around, and don't even stop to think about the rest of us! You hurt people too, Patrick!"

There were tears running down your face as you locked your gaze with mine, breathing heavily. "I never hit anyone, though."

My growl turned into a sob as I tried to think of something to say to that. So I just said the thing that my brain was taunting me with. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"What?" you snapped back.

"This! Us!" I shouted, my voice starting to crack. "This is gonna end just how it did last time!"

"No it's not. I'm not fucking scared of you anymore, you're not gonna leave me pleading for you, I'm not your victim!"

I tried hopelessly to defend myself. "Patrick, I-"

"No! Before you talk of hurt, think what you did to me," you snarled, close enough to me that I could feel the saliva from your lips flecking my face. "Think how you treated me. The one person I loved most in the world thought I was worthless, think what you said to me, think how you...fucking..." you started to sob, "you made me bleed, and...and you tricked me and you played with my feelings and you...you nearly fucked me in that meeting room and I've never been so terrified in my whole life so you...you shut up about hurt, and selfishness, you're a monster!"

My whole head went silent.

All I could do was stare into your trembling eyes and let your words echo around my brain. _Monster._

I couldn't stop the tears anymore.

Throwing a hand over my face, I used the other one to shove you away from me, and ran as fast as I could, bolting up the stairs and flinging myself into my bedroom, breathing like I'd run a mile.

 

I couldn't believe you'd said that. I couldn't believe you'd used it against me like that, act like I haven't changed. Guilt and anger fought for dominance, my fingers twisted themselves in the bed covers as I relived all your fucking emotional blackmail, the way you'd tried to get me to hit you. That wasn't fair, Patrick.

But then I couldn't stop thinking about everything I did. The image of you pushed up against the wall, screaming through my fingers as I ran my poisonous hands all over you, it haunts me; I can't begin to imagine how much it haunts you.

 _This is a mistake. This whole relationship is a mistake._ I couldn't help but think that we should never have even tried doing this again, this was exactly what I was afraid of. We know exactly how to hurt each other.

I don't know how long I sat there on my bed, waves of anger washing over me, wondering how it went so wrong so quickly.

I'd completely forgotten you were even there. I thought you'd probably left, I was expecting a breakup text at any moment.

But if I listened very carefully, I could hear you talking downstairs.

"...I don't know. No, not now. I'm at his place. Yeah, he went upstairs. I dunno. No. Yeah, it was bad. Definitely the worst one. Well I don't know, I mean – hey, you didn't hear what he said! Yeah. I guess. I didn't really mean it, but – no, he cried too. I told you it was bad! I don't know, I guess I just didn't wanna leave, 'cause that would mean it's over. No. I don't want it to be. He might. But what if he doesn't? No. Okay, fine, yes. Yeah, I'd like to. How? Oh, okay. No, I mean...I really do like him. But what if he's right?! Well, I guess I think it could go somewhere. Just tell me how? Shut up! Okay. Ugh, okay. So just...? Right. And you think that'll work? Okay. Okay, right. What if he doesn't? Okay. Thanks. I will. Thank you. Yeah, see you soon. Thank you so much, Charlotte. No, no, really. Okay. Thanks. Bye."

I heard a deep breath, then footsteps.

 _Oh shit, he's coming, what do I do?_ So I just sat on my bed and folded my arms, glaring at the door.

A quiet knock sounded. I didn't answer. You opened the door anyway.

You didn't say anything at first, just looked at me for a bit. Your eyes were red around the edges and there were tear trails on your cheeks, and you'd lost your hat somewhere along the line, your whole demeanour a little less composed than normal.

"I don't really want you around right now, Patrick," I said stiffly, looking at the door frame rather than at you.

"Listen, the feeling's mutual," you sighed, stepping inside slightly and leaning against the wall. "But...we either talk this over, or we're through. Which is it gonna be?"

The anger in my brain screamed at me to tell you to fuck off, to get out of my life, but it wasn't quite loud enough to block out the voice that said, _I don't want this to be over._

"Okay. Let's talk," I said finally, wiping the tear stains from my face and sitting up a bit.

You visibly relaxed. "Good. Phew, good. Right." Picking at your fingers, you stayed near the door, probably wondering where to start. "I guess we gotta work out what the problems are. Uh...why don't you – why don't you tell me what you don't like about me?" you shrugged, with that therapist-type look on your face.

I let out a humourless laugh. "Isn't that pretty much what I just did?"

"No, no, I – you don't have to be mean about it, just be honest."

I frowned at you, feeling sceptical about all this. But then I guess your therapy had worked before, so I played along. "Okay. Uh... I don't like it when you lie to me."

"Shut up! I don't -" you started, then caught yourself. "Right. Okay, carry on."

"Um...well, I dunno, I mean, I get why you do it, I guess, to put off telling me stuff or to spare my feelings or whatever, but I really hate it. Like, like earlier, when you did that thing where you act like nothing's wrong and it takes me ages to wring it out of you. I'd rather you just fucking _told_ me, straight out," I sighed. It felt good to get that out.

"Okay," you nodded, "okay. I can work on that. Anything else?"

 _Definitely._ "Uh...I think I called you selfish, or something along those lines. I...I didn't really mean selfish, I just meant that you sometimes kinda get lost in your own head, and you stop listening to other people. It's worst in the studio."

You laughed slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know about that one. I'm sorry, I just get so worked up, then I start getting pissed with you guys."

"It's okay, I mean, I know it's just 'cause you care so much," I said, surprising myself at the compliment. It's true, though. You're not selfish at all, you're just emotionally invested.

"I'll try to back off on the record. Let Joe and Andy do stuff," you decided, eyebrows knitted together in thought. "Is that it?"

"No, one more thing," I said, and you nodded like you wanted to hear it. "I don't like it when you bring up the past. I just...it hurts me so much, Patrick, and I just want to forget about it. I'm not that person anymore."

You pushed yourself off the wall a bit, shifting your feet. "Ah, you see, that's where we differ. 'Cause I don't think we should forget the past."

"No, you don't understand! I can't bear thinking of what I used to be like! And you acted like I haven't changed, you called me a monster, and I hate you for that, you _know_ I'm not like that now!" I cried, feeling tears in my eyes again.

"I didn't mean it that way," you said calmly. "I'm sorry I called you that, I wasn't thinking. I know you wanna block it all out, but I don't think we should do that. We can't just forget the past, not, like, dwell on it or anything, just learn from it. It's no good acting like it never happened, I don't like it when you do that."

I guess you had a point. Maybe it wasn't fair to just dismiss who we used to be. "Okay. Fair enough. So, uh...your turn, I guess. What do I do that pisses you off?" I braced myself, not really sure if I wanted to know the answer.

You sighed uncomfortably. "Uh...okay, look, I'm trying my best to be more thick-skinned, and I think I'm doing better at taking insults...but when they come from you, I just...I can't handle it. You called me fat, and...well, I know I was, but it still stings, you know?"

I shook my head. "No, don't talk like that. And I'm so sorry, I swear I only used it 'cause I knew it would hurt, not 'cause it was true. I really shouldn't have said that. And I shouldn't have pretended I was nothing to do with why you were ill. " _Hey, look at the maturity on me._

You nodded, looking a little relieved. "Okay. Thank you. Uh... another thing, I don't like it when you laugh at me being stressed. Like, I get that it's usually over stupid stuff, and, and it probably is quite funny from your perspective, but at the time, I am really genuinely anxious and it gets me even more worked up if you laugh. That's partly why I started saying stuff I didn't mean."

 _Wow. Okay._ That'd never even occurred to me, I'd never meant to antagonise you. "I didn't realise it made you angry. I'm sorry." This little talk was turning into a real eye-opener. Why the fuck hadn't we done this before?

You smiled a little bit. "Uh...so I think that's it, the big stuff anyway. Anything else you wanna talk about?"

I'm sure there were probably more things I could bring up, but they'd mostly involve your inability to do any form of housework, and I could nag you about that another time. So I just shook my head.

"Okay. Okay, so... is – is the fight over?" you asked awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

I smiled, feeling the last of the anger slowly melt away. Maybe this was gonna be alright, after all. I stood slowly and held out my arms, as a peace offering. Plus, the part of my brain responsible for the kisses and cuddles was starting to get real fidgety.

You grinned, and rushed at me, engulfing me in one of your huge hugs. It always amazes me how much hugging force can come from such a small person.

We stayed in the hug for quite a while, probably just relieved that neither of us would have to phone Joe and tell him _we broke up, and therefore the band has to, again_.

Eventually, we just sat beside each other on the bed, until you decided that normal sitting was too mainstream, and pulled your legs up onto the bed too, bouncing about to get comfortable. I thought you'd stop after a few seconds, but you didn't, you kept fidgeting and jostling me around.

"Hey, Patrick – stop it, seriously," I said at last, putting my hands on your legs to keep you still.

"Sorry," you giggled, wriggling your toes at me.

I sighed dramatically. "See, no wonder we fight, 'cause you're so damn annoying!"

"Listen, someone's gotta annoy you. And I've humbly taken it upon myself to carry out that task," you said as professionally as you could. Then, your smile dropped, and you blinked at me sadly. "Seriously, though. I don't like fighting with you. That was horrible, and I'm sorry for all the stupid stuff I said. I shouldn't have tried to provoke you. I shouldn't have tried to make you feel guilty. You're not a monster."

I hopped up onto the bed and turned to face you. "Listen, let's just move on. But Patrick..." I shuffled closer to you, looking you straight in the face so you knew I was completely serious about this, "...I need you to know that I will never, ever hit you again."

Your face spread into a sad smile, and I think I saw a hint of pride touch your eyes. "I know."

Relief spread through me as I looked at you. That fight had made me so terrified that maybe somewhere, deep down, you were still scared of me, still waiting for me to inflict pain upon you. The way you gazed at me, though, it was everything I needed. I lifted my hand and brushed it lightly across your cheek, tracing my thumb across your bottom lip and feeling you smile.

"So we're okay, yeah?" you asked hopefully.

"Yeah, we're fine. Maybe – maybe even slightly better?" I wondered, starting to feel like I'd just taken part in an exorcism.

"Wow, okay," you grinned. "Kiss and make up?"

I shrugged. "Fuck and make up?"

You rolled your eyes at me. "No, I told you about my shower situation!"

"Hmm. Yeah. But, you could shower here. Hey, we could shower together! Or, or we could fuck _in the shower_! That would be most efficient," I reasoned.

You deadpanned. "I'm not having shower sex."

"Give me one good reason."

"I don't want to."

"Fair enough," I sighed. "But will you shower with me?"

"Why d'you want to do that so bad? There is nothing sexy about seeing me all red and blotchy."

"That's where you're wrong, my little milk bottle, for I am extremely partial to your red and blotchiness."

You giggled, trying to maintain your frown. "Fine. I will consider a joint shower. But only if the sex is _real_ good."

I flicked your knee. "When is it not?"

"True," you shrugged, "so kissing, fucking, then shower. Cool."

I grinned, then wrapped my arms round your waist, leaning towards you and capturing your lips in mine. How could I even have thought of breaking up with you? You're too cute to stay angry at.

"Wait," you said suddenly, pulling back. "Will you cook for my parents?"

I groaned loudly, making a face at you.

"If you say yes, I promise you the best blowjob of your life."

-

And that is how I ended up in your kitchen, two days later, nearly crying into a pan full of broccoli.

They were due any minute now, your parents, you'd just buzzed them in. I was dreading it. You'd assured me that you'd fight my corner, but either way, we were gonna get shouted at, and I was gonna feel guilty. But, at the end of the day, I had to meet them at some point. Who knows, maybe one day, I'll have to ask your father a very important question.

I worked so hard on the meal. I'd ordered in a load of exotic spices, along with most of the other ingredients, seeing as all you have in your house is cereal and hot chocolate powder. You'd 'helped' me with it, which consisted mostly of you hovering around me, randomly picking stuff up and looking at it as if you had the slightest idea what to do with it.

"Just calm down, Pete, it'll be fine," you said, obviously not practising what you preach.

"Don't tell me to be calm! You don't have onions to sauté!" I yelped, running about the kitchen frantically.

"I'll sauté your onions in a minute!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

Then came a knock at the door.

We both turned round slowly, eyes trained on the door. _And thus, we die._

You gave me a vaguely reassuring glance, and strode over to the door.

"Patrick, darling!" Your mum's joyous voice rang around the flat, and I heard you make a sort of squelching sound as she hugged you.

"Hey mum, dad," you said, and I heard your dad's gruff voice greeting you too. I shrunk into the kitchen cabinets, wishing your flat wasn't so open-plan.

"Ooh, something smells lovely," your mum exclaimed, both of them walking into the lounge, noses sniffing at the air.

"Yeah, yeah, that's...that's dinner."

"Who'd have thought, our son, a chef," your mum said proudly. I held back a snort.

You laughed slightly. "Uh...yeah, okay, uh, why don't you sit down?"

"It's a nice place you've got here. How long are you planning to stay?"

"Uh, I don't know, that depends on – on the band, and stuff," you stumbled. I could almost hear you chewing on your lips.

"Ah, you must tell us how that's going. Are you writing new music?" your dad said curiously. 

"Yeah, some new stuff, it's kinda fun now, actually-"

"How's Andy and Joe?"

"Yep, they're great, did I tell you Joe got married? Yes, okay, I did. Also-"

"Have you found another bassist yet? Your father reckons he could give it a go," your mum laughed. I felt a chill through me, despite the heat of the kitchen.

"I might be a little rusty, but I'll bet I could still keep up with you kids," your dad insisted.

You laughed a little, and I wondered how long you'd wait. But I'd talked to you about the lying, and you kept your word. "Uh... we're – we're actually keeping our bassist."

The laughter died down.

"Patrick, darling," your mum said softly, "surely they can't do that? I'm sure if you talked to management, they'd be able to get rid of him right away, you can't have him around."

"Well...that's the thing, I – uh, I want him around."

"That's big of you, Patrick, but if you're not comfortable-"

"No, I am comfortable. In fact, uh... P-Pete?" you called, and I took a deep breath.

Checking on the onions quickly, I emerged from the corner of the kitchen and shuffled round into the lounge, hovering behind you, in full view of your parents.

I saw your dad tense up. Your mum's eyes widened. I wished the onions would let me sauté with them.

"Uh...h – hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stump," I wavered, trying to smile.

Your mum gave me this sort of I-don't-know-what-to-do-so-I'll-just-smile-even-though-I'd-like-you-to-leave-right-now smiles, and looked back at you. "Patrick... what is he doing here?"

"Well, he's actually very kindly cooking dinner for us."

"What are you doing here?" your dad repeated, standing up slowly. I took a step back.

Your eyes darted between your parents and me, probably wondering what to say. So you didn't say anything, just sidled up to me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

Instinctively, I did the same to you, curling a hand round your hips, grateful for the contact. I wanted so badly just to pick you up and carry you off to a land where nobody thought I wasn't good enough for you.

I couldn't bear to look at the horrified faces of your parents, so I just stared at the floor, focusing on the feel of your breathing.

"Patrick... _again?"_ your mum said incredulously. "After what he did to you?"

You nodded.

"You've got a nerve, going after my son again," your dad growled, his face set like stone.

"He didn't _go after_ me, I actually asked _him_ out," you stated.

"But sweetheart... don't you remember how he hurt you?" your mum asked anxiously, her gaze moving between us.

"I do remember," I said, a surge of courage taking me by surprise. "And I'll never forget. I'm not the person I used to be." You squeezed me tighter.

"Get your hands off him!" your dad snapped suddenly. I jumped out of my skin and let go of you, touching your arm to get you unwrap it from me. But you didn't.

"No, dad. You heard him, he's not like that anymore."

"Darling, you were in pieces when he left you! What if -" your mum lowered her voice, "what if you turn to alcohol again?"

"I won't, mum. I don't drink, and neither does Pete. He's been sober for five years," you said proudly, smiling at me.

"Oh, well...that's good, I suppose, don't you think?" she looked at your dad anxiously.

"That doesn't matter, it doesn't erase what he did," your dad snarled. I wished you were taller so I could hide behind you.

"I know, but it still matters. When we broke up, I didn't realise it at the time, but he did it for my own benefit. He knew that, in the long run, it was best for both of us. And he was right!"

"Patrick-"

"He was the one who looked after me when I was ill, he was the one who knocked some sense into me when I was drinking, he, he looks after me when I need it and he's nice and kind and caring and he makes me so happy and I'd like to keep him, please. I'm twenty-eight, I can make my own damn choices, and being with Pete is definitely one of them. I'm not a kid anymore, mum."

I felt myself blush, and smiled inwardly, gently wrapping an arm around you again. When you said you'd fight my corner, I didn't know you'd meant _totally fucking slay those bitches._

Your dad narrowed his eyes, no doubt trying to read whether I'd told you to say that, but your mum tapped at his arm and patted the couch beside her.

"Alright, Patrick, no need to snap," she tutted, and I think I know where you get your politeness from now, "if you're happy, then we're happy. You must understand our worry, though," she frowned, throwing me a meaningful glance.

"Of course, ma'am," I nodded, "you've every right to be worried. But your son means so much to me, and I know now how lucky I am to have him. Please, just give me another chance, ma'am."

She looked at your dad, who was still searching my face for signs of deception. He looked back, and I could see them having a silent conversation between themselves. We waited, holding our breath.

"Alright, son," your dad finally said, addressing me this time, rather than his actual son, "alright. You look after my boy. If you don't, there'll be consequences," he warned, and I nodded at him as fast as I could.

"Thank you, sir. I will."

You beamed around at all of us, before giving me a hug, one of those ones where it's not really a proper hug 'cause you're so busy bouncing up and down that I can't get a proper hold of you.

"Good!" you said brightly, pulling away and clapping your hands together.

Then I smelt burning, and remembered the onions.

Fighting the urge to swear loudly, I just tapped your arm and pointed at the kitchen, and you nodded, smiling at me as I walked away. I love it when you do that.

I managed to salvage most of the onions, even though some had been sautéed into oblivion, and fought the urge to do a little dance, just in case I wasn't quite hidden behind the cabinets.

The meal was perfect. I mean, apart from a few burnt onions. But, like, seriously, if the band falls through, I gotta get some kind of cooking show. You can be my glamorous assistant, the one that gets people watching in the first place, and you could sing during the boring bits, it'd be great. Anyway, I think your parents enjoyed it. They made _mm_ noises and they ate everything, your dad even had seconds, so points to me, even though we were crammed in the 'dining' room, which was just your kitchen table moved a little bit further from the actual kitchen.

It took them a little while to warm up, but once I got your dad talking about music, he seemed to forget he hated me, and then we argued about guitars for a bit and by the end he was actually laughing at some of the stuff I said. It was sort of fun, to be honest.

They gave me a couple more warnings on their way out, but they still thanked me for the meal and told me to give you cooking lessons, which is never gonna happen in a million years 'cause I'd probably end up throwing myself out of the window, but I smiled and they smiled and we shook hands and fucking hell parental approval feels good.

When you'd finally shut the door behind them, you let out a whoop of joy and pretty much jumped on me, sending me reeling backwards. "Oh my god! They don't hate you!"

I laughed and put you back on the floor before I fell over, and you immediately took the opportunity to grab my face and kiss me.

Your hands pushed at my chest, but kept our lips together, guiding me towards the couch until you shoved me down onto it, sitting on my lap.

"Thanks so much for doing that. And, as promised, your reward," you smirked, pecking me on the nose.

And oh my fucking god, it actually was the best blowjob of my life. Your lips, jesus, they're not just good for singing, and it didn't take you long to get me singing too, your tongue as agile as your fingers, moaning when my hands tangled in your hair, your mouth taking complete control of me.

You left me gasping on the couch, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen, and went to do your usual night-time rituals, coming back with minty breath and pyjamas.

We cuddled for a little while, occasionally talking about random stuff we'd seen on TV or that creepy dude at the supermarket that hoards all the pineapples, kissing sometimes whenever you were being too cute for me to handle.

It's funny, all the fighting, all the insults we'd thrown, all the pain we'd caused each other, it didn't mean a damn thing now we were here, your smile lighting up your whole face and my whole world.

"You're so beautiful," I'd said suddenly, as you curled between me and the back of the sofa.

You giggled and tutted at me, burying your face in my chest. "Oh, stop it."

"No, I'm serious," I insisted. "And...uh," I swallowed, "I really like you, Patrick."

You sat up a bit and looked at me carefully. "I – I really like you too."

It's funny, if it had been said any other way, it wouldn't have meant anything. But everything was written behind our eyes, the quiet understanding, all the words we weren't quite ready to say yet.

-

I think I might be ready now.

From Pete.


	51. Chapter 51

Dear Patrick,

Okay, so I've been known to have some pretty crazy birthday parties in the past. There was this one where I passed out and woke up on a train to Ohio. There was one where Joe got a vase smashed over his head and decided that three bottles of WKD was the treatment required. He still has the scar. Oh, and then the one where we got arrested, something about _unlawful use of fork-lift trucks._

Anyway, so I'd definitely learnt my lesson. This year, I made it clear that I didn't want any surprise parties, obviously no alcohol, no big fuss. Just a quiet day, preferably with you.

That's not what I got. Oh god, Patrick.

-

It started out fine.

More than fine, actually, it started out perfectly. I woke up in your bed, with you laying next to me, your limbs flung everywhere and that angelic look on your face. You had on those pyjamas I love, you know the ones that are really soft and have little sheep all over them, and I felt myself grin. I'm so damn lucky.

I spent quite a while just staring at you, watching the way your chest moved slowly up and down, the way your hair fell over your face and fluttered in time with your soft breaths. I thought about getting up and making coffee or something, but I would've quite happily spent the whole day dozing with you, so I stayed put.

You'd obviously sensed me staring, or maybe your brain had decided that it wanted to see the actual morning for a change, 'cause you stirred a little bit, your eyes opening slowly, blinking a few times. You smiled when you saw me next to you, and I felt my heart lift.

"Morning, sleepy," I said, stroking your hand, outstretched in the space between us.

"Mhngg," you slurred, shutting your eyes again.

"No, don't go back to sleep," I insisted, giving you a poke, "it's my birthday!"

"Aww, shit," you groaned, rubbing at your eyes.

I frowned. "Hey, that's a good thing!"

You sat up a little bit, looking at me properly now. "No, you gotta leave."

"Why?" I said indignantly, pushing back the covers and hauling myself into a sitting position.

"Because," you yawned at me, "I need to do some stuff."

"Birthday stuff?"

"Wait and see."

I knew you meant _yes_. I tried to give you the polite _oh, you really shouldn't have_ look, but I was way too excited for that, bouncing around in the covers and cuddling your arm tight. 

Anyway, you ended up quite literally kicking me out of bed, telling me you'd see me a bit later, around lunchtime. I made sure to give you the biggest and sloppiest kiss I could on my way out, and you couldn't even protest 'cause it was my birthday and you had to put up with me no matter how annoying I was.

I'm glad I kissed you that morning. I know now that I should've stayed. None of it would've happened if I'd have stayed.

I didn't know that, though, as I pranced out of your flat and off back to my own house.

-

I spent the morning answering phone calls from friends, and yes, I do actually have other friends now, and I even got some birthday cards. I lined them all up on the window sill next to my little tree, which is getting quite tall now, almost a foot or so. It's got a leaf and everything.

You'd told me _lunchtime,_ which could be any time between eleven and three o'clock, so I had a hard time deciding what to do with myself 'till then. That's the thing with birthdays, it's as if you _must_ be having fun _the entire time_ otherwise it's a waste of a day, you gotta be doing something or with someone or out somewhere.

Fuck that, though. I was quite happy to grab a bag of Doritos, and a tub of ice cream, and veg out watching Breaking Bad for three hours, and d'you know what? It was fucking great. It was much better than fucking skydiving or ice skating or whatever other people might think I should do to celebrate. Who even likes ice skating anyway? I mean, first off, it's so fucking cold, why the hell would you voluntarily go near ice, second, when I'm ice skating I look like a drunk whale, and third, there are people speeding past you with fucking _razor blades_ on their feet. I'm quite happy just lolling on the sofa, thanks.

Anyway, it was just gone one o'clock, and I was getting a little fidgety, 'cause I wanted to know what you were up to, and I also wanted kisses. But you hadn't called or anything. _Maybe he just forgot, and now he's panicking._ It turned out that one of those things was definitely true.

I pulled out my phone and flicked through it lazily, reading some birthday messages from people who remembered, posting a photo of me and the Doritos, I don't even know why. I really did try to put off calling you, I promise. Obviously, though, I failed.

Soon, I was hugging the bag of chips and pressing the phone to my ear, Walter White staring me down from the TV. It rang for a long time, and I was just about to hang up, when I heard the little clicky noise that told me I got through.

I should've known something wasn't right.

At first, all I could hear was this weird roaring sound, sorta like static but less electrical, a kind of pulsating groan like an old man trying to get up from a chair. Maybe it was just my bad reception.

"Patrick?" I said, wondering what the hell was going on.

No answer.

"Hey, Patrick," I laughed slightly. _Is this all part of the birthday surprise?_

The roaring sound continued, and even if I strained, I couldn't hear any signs of movement over it.

"Patrick!" I pretty much shouted into the phone. It probably was just the reception.

Then, I heard what was unmistakably a human moving about, a scuffling sound and then a cough. A lot of coughing, actually.

"Patrick, I can hear you," I called in a sing-song voice, "what are you up to?"

"Pete," you finally replied. I blamed the phone for the fact that it sounded like you were whispering.

"What the hell were you doing? I was on the line for fucking ages, dude. Anyway, I was just wondering when you want me to come over? Or, like, are you coming here? What's the deal? I don't mind if you need more time, or whatever, I just...well, you know me, I like to know the plan. So what's the plan?" I gushed, some of the birthday excitement getting the better of me.

"Don't...don't come over," you said quietly. I could barely hear you over that roaring noise.

"Oh, okay, I'll wait for you, then. Are we going out? Or can't you say?"

You coughed harshly before you spoke again, your voice a bit hoarse. "Don't come over. Just...spend the day with Joe and Andy, 'kay?"

My heart dropped. "But it's my birthday, I want to see _you,"_ I whined, like the clingy boyfriend I was.

"I'm sorry, I -" the sentence was cut off by another rough cough, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded sorta constricted, like how it is when you're on the brink of crying and trying to pull yourself back. "I can't...right now. I'll – I'll see you, at, at some point."

"No, no!" I said quickly, to stop you hanging up. "Look, I don't care if you forgot, it's fine, I just wanna see you."

"I didn't – I'm not...I, uh..." you stumbled, words quickly swallowed up by a pinched choke.

"Are you okay? You sound like you're coming down with something," I pondered. I can't believe I didn't catch on sooner.

"I'm – I'm fine, don't worry, just – just go enjoy your birthda-" Suddenly, your voice was cut off completely, as if someone had just tightened a rope round your neck. Your breathing became faster, frantic, even, these rasping gasps which rattled through the phone lines.

I felt a twinge of shock, and sat up quickly. "Oh my god, Patrick, are you okay?"

There was no answer this time, just more of that horrible breathing. That was when I started to panic a little bit.

"Patrick?"

"Pete," you croaked, the sound strained and broken.

"Patrick, what the hell is going on?"

I was standing up now, shouting into my phone, the Doritos spilled on the floor.

"Patrick!" I yelled, trying to be heard above that roaring noise. I swear it'd got louder. "Tell me what's happened, please!"

All I got was coughs in reply, a dry and wheezing sound, like fingers being dragged across sandpaper.

Finally, you managed to choke out one word.

"Fire."

I stopped dead.

"What?"

There was no answer.

"Patrick?"

No. Oh god, no.

"Patrick!" I shouted down the phone, gripping it so tight I thought I might crush it, listening in horror to your strangled coughs. And now, now I was paying more attention, in the background, I could hear the shrill cries of a smoke alarm.

My chest felt like a coiled fist. This couldn't be happening, this doesn't happen in real life, only in TV shows.

I yelled your name again, willing you to say something, tell me this was a joke, tell me you were just messing around, but the way you were dragging in laboured breaths, the way I could hear your throat straining and your lungs gasping, it made every bone in my body turn to cold, heavy stone.

That's when I realised. You weren't just coughing. You were suffocating.

"Patrick," I whispered, my voice lost in the roaring, my head clouding with dizzy panic, not knowing what to do, what to think.

I was about to yell again, to ask the questions I should have asked if I'd have caught on earlier, _where are you, can you get to safety, have you called the fire service,_ but then the choking sound stopped.

For a moment, I was relieved. Maybe you were okay, maybe you were just running away and now you were out in the air. But I could still hear the roaring. I could still hear the fire alarm. The only thing I couldn't hear was you breathing.

There was a loud, crackling bang, which was unmistakably the sound of your phone hitting the floor. Static joined in with the chorus of groans, a nightmarish choir snarling at me through the phone lines. That must be the sound of hell itself. And my god, it was terrifying.

I had no idea what to do. Nothing had prepared me for a situation like this. _Do I call 911?_ _Do I call your parents, or someone else, and tell them? Do I stay here? Do I go and help?_

There was only ever gonna be one answer, though. I had to go.

I uprooted my feet and flew out the front door, clutching my phone to my ear, listening, hoping. Trying not to think about what might be happening to you. I couldn't end the call, even though you weren't answering, I couldn't cut this tie to you.

The roaring faded to a buzzing as I placed the phone on the dashboard and sped off down the road, mind going so fast that I could barely remember the way to your flat, could barely see anything but the blurred white lines on the ground below.

I had to keep telling myself that this was all gonna be okay. Whatever the hell was going on, it was gonna be fine, you'd probably just overreacted, you can be very dramatic when you want to be. That's what this was. It was all fine, there was some simple explanation which didn't involve you getting hurt in any way. It had to be fine.

But it didn't look fine as I turned the corner into your apartment block's parking lot and saw a fire engine and an ambulance poised outside the doors.

I felt a wave of dizziness over me. _No. This isn't what's happening, this has nothing to do with the phone call, you're fine, you are._

Reassurance, however, didn't enter my head as I rushed from my badly parked car and sprinted towards the clatter of voices. There were quite a lot of people wandering around, some holding little kids, others chattering madly, but most with their eyes flicking around, staring up at the fire engine or the building or the ambulance.

I kept running until I reached the edge of the crowd, cursing my height as I tried to see what was happening in the circle of space people had left around the vehicles and up towards the doors of the building.

"Are you alright, young man?" a voice asked, and I whipped around frantically as if it was you that'd spoken. It wasn't, though. It was an elderly lady, her eyes kind and her hand placed gently on my shoulder.

My mouth flapped. "I...uh...I don't...what's happened?"

"I don't really know, dear. There's been a fire, I know that much, in one of the apartments. Most of us here were evacuated," she said, gesturing to the people scattered around us.

 _Ohgodohgodohgod._ "Was...uh, was anyone hurt?" I stammered, pleading that she'd say no, looking at her with wide eyes.

She shook her head. It wasn't right though, it was a sad shake, and she just said, "I don't know, dear. No-one's come out of there yet." She looked over at the double doors, thrown wide open.

"Which apartment was it?" I asked, resisting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

"It was on the same floor as mine, I think," she pondered, not nearly quickly enough.

"Who lives on your floor?"

"Well, uh, let me see, there's Frank, he's an old friend of mine, but he's over there somewhere," she gestured at the other clump of crowd, the other side of the ambulance. "And, a new couple, I haven't talked to them much. It could be them, I suppose, but I do hope not, I believe they have a baby on the way."

"Okay," I breathed, relieved that she hadn't said your name. You had to be here somewhere, then. I scanned the mass of people for a fedora.

"Oh, and a young man, hasn't been here very long," she continued. I stopped.

"What?" I blurted, feeling my chest tighten. "What, uh, what's his name?" _Don't say it don't say it, please._

"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you, dear, I've a memory like a sieve," she laughed, as if anything about this was funny. "Nice boy, though. Helped me with my shopping last week."

 _Shit. That sounds like him, that sounds like my Patrick, what if he's up there burning, what-?_ No. I had to keep calm. I had to keep telling myself that I shouldn't panic, not 'til I know for certain.

I kept searching the crowd, you had to be there somewhere, maybe the crowd had been the roaring sound, maybe the fire alarm had actually been the sirens instead. I still couldn't get your choked voice out of my head, though.

"Why, do you know him?" she asked, and I jumped. I'd forgotten I was even speaking to her.

"I, uh...he's – he's my-" I was cut off by a hush creeping over the crowd, raised voices sinking to confused whispers.

I turned to look slowly at the double doors. There was a fireman, helmeted and clad in heavy brown clothes banded with fluorescent yellow.

In his arms, he held a body.

He hurried down the steps, and the paramedics rushed towards him, a couple more emerging from behind him, too. They held out a stretcher, and the body was gently lowered onto it, limp limbs gathered up and arranged carefully.

All I could do was stare as my heart sunk through my bones and into my shoes.

I knew those blue stripy socks. I knew that maroon cardigan, those worn black jeans. I knew that pale skin, I knew every inch of it. I knew that body was yours.

I started to push through the crowd, my feet stumbling over each other and my vision going slightly blurry around the edges. People grumbled at me, but I didn't care, all I could think about was you.

They carried your body away from the building, telling the crowd to stay back and give them space, two of them running back to the ambulance ahead of the stretcher, calling stuff out to one another. Then, they placed it on the ground, crouching down beside it. I could hear them talking and see them pointing, even through all the people. I ended the phone call. 

Finally, _finally,_ I reached the front of the group, and stopped in my tracks.

You were laid out on the ground, about ten feet away from me, surrounded by paramedics. One of your arms had fallen slightly over the edge of the stretcher, your fingers unmoving. Your eyes were shut, your face tilted towards me, eyebrows a little raised as if you were only sleeping.

You didn't look injured. I couldn't see any burns, no blackened clothing. The knot in my stomach loosened slightly, you hadn't been consumed by the fire, you were fine, you looked just as you had when I'd woken up next to you this morning. So why did the paramedics look so concerned?

Then one of them shifted a bit, giving me a better view. I could see your whole body now. Your shirt had been opened up, your exposed skin pearly white in the midday light, a medic crouched over you, her hands clamped against your breastbone. She was giving you chest compressions.

And as I looked at you, laying there, pale and still, that's when I realised. You weren't breathing.

The world began to tilt, the noise taking over my entire head, bile rising in my throat. But I couldn't let myself get consumed by it, I had to stay in the moment, had to watch with wide eyes.

I gazed blindly as they worked; another medic took hold of your cheeks and tilted your chin up, placing a hand on your forehead and pinching your nose. Then, he carefully parted your lips with his thumb, took a gulp of air, and sealed his mouth over yours, blowing a breath into you.

Your chest rose up briefly, then fell. Then you lay still again.

I couldn't take it anymore. I staggered from the crowd, ignoring the people who tried to pull me back, wanting to see you, wanting to be by your side.

"Sir, please step back," one of the medics said, appearing in front of me.

"No, no, please, what's happened to him, please," I said, as calmly as I could, trying to see round her.

"The situation is being dealt with," she said professionally, speaking to the people standing around as well. They'd been asking questions the whole time, _where's the fire, did they put it out, are there people still in there, is he okay, will he die, is he dead._ "Step back."

  "No, please, I won't interfere, just let me go to him, I won't be any trouble, please." I watched her steadily, figuring that if I showed that I wasn't gonna be hysterical, wasn't gonna stop them doing their work, then maybe she might make an allowance.  

She looked at me for a second. "I'm afraid I can't."

"Please," I said quietly, trying to slow my breathing down. "I love him." I hadn't even got to tell you that yet. Now you might never know.  

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking me up and down, then sighed and nodded, taking my arm and guiding me over to you. "Give us any trouble, you're out," she said simply, then walked off to do more crowd control.

For a second, I just stood there, staring down at you. Your body jolted slightly in time with the compressions, then stopped as they gave you another breath. It was as if you were a rag-doll.

Feeling my head start to spin, I dropped to my knees beside you, barely acknowledged by the medics, and kept on staring. Breathing was never something I'd particularly noticed about you, but now it wasn't there, it was the only thing I could notice. Your face was so still, impossibly still, the slight movements of your lips and nose and throat had vanished, like you were just a porcelain figure.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me didn't want to touch you, to look at you, even, it just wanted to get up and run. The other part wanted to pick you up and hold you close and beg every god for your life. I'd run over to you with such a purpose, but now I was here, I couldn't think straight, couldn't bring myself to do anything other than stare.

"Hold his hand," a voice said.

I looked up sharply. It was the guy, the one who'd been giving you air. He was watching me, pity on his face and encouragement in his voice. "What?" I blurted.

"Hold his hand, it'll help," he said again. 

He was only saying it to keep me occupied. It wouldn't help you, it would help me, help me feel like I was doing something, I know that now. But at the time, it was exactly what I needed to stop me self-destructing.

With shaking fingers, I reached out to you, slowly picking up your hand, tracing the delicate lines on your palm, hating the way you didn't respond to me, but taking solace in the fact that there was still warmth in your skin. "Is...is he...is..." I stumbled, not knowing which question to ask first.

"His heart's still beating," the medic said kindly.

My own heart jumped. "Really?"

"Yeah, still going strong. And we're gonna keep it going," he said, glancing at the woman still pressing on your chest.

"But why is he...why..." I lost the sentence as I watched the man lean over and give you another breath.

"The fire took all the oxygen, son, now we gotta give some back to him. He needs to start breathing."

"And...what if he doesn't?" I asked, my gaze still fixed on your motionless form.

The medic just pursed his lips. I knew what he meant, though. You were dying.

I cradled your hand between both of mine, curling your fingers around my own as if you were squeezing back, shutting my eyes and trying to pretend this was all just a nightmare, and any moment now you'd wake me up and cuddle me close.

"Talk to him," the medic said abruptly. "Tell him what he's gotta do."

It seems such a silly thing now. But I clung to his words, they made me focus, made me feel like I had some kind of control. I shuffled a bit nearer to you as if that might increase the chance of you hearing me, and wound my fingers tighter around your hand.

"Listen, sweetheart," I began quietly, "you need to breathe. You – you can do it, okay, I know you can, just – please, baby, breathe."

The medic gave me a reassuring nod, before tilting your face back towards him and giving you his air.

I watched your chest rise, hoping, wishing you'd react to it, but the air just rushed back out of you, leaving your lungs empty and your throat still. As soon as he let go of you, your head fell to the side, your lips slightly parted, motionless.

"Come on, baby, please," I begged, "you can't leave me, you gotta breathe, I need you to breathe."

You didn't, though. Another round of compressions passed, and you just lay there, fading, right in front of my eyes. It was the worst form of torture.

"Sweetheart, please, breathe. It's my birthday, sweetie, breathe for me," I kept on, watching your face and your throat and your chest for any sign of movement, anything at all.

He gave you another breath, but it was like trying to hold water in your bare hands. I could feel the shakes building through my body, the slow realisation that you might not wake up.

"Please," I said again, my voice beginning to crack. I brought your hand carefully to my mouth and kissed it gently. I've always loved kissing your hands, I'm not even sure why. But it wasn't the same now. I expected to feel your fingers squirming under my lips, hear your giggles as you blushed and told me I was weird. But your hands remained as still as your body.

The medic put his mouth over yours once again, keeping your head tilted backwards and your neck exposed.

Then, as your chest rose and fell, I saw your throat flutter.

It was such a tiny movement, as if there was a butterfly caught in your windpipe, but I definitely saw it.

The medic saw it too. He waved a hand at the woman giving the compressions, and she stopped, watching you carefully. Then, he leaned over and gave you one more breath.

Your throat did that flutter again, and I could have sworn I saw your mouth move just slightly. It was as if the whole world had gone silent, watching, waiting. I held your hand tighter.

Then, your lips fell open and you drank in a long rush of air, your neck arching and your chest rising fully, your eyebrows floating up as you breathed, deeply and heavily.

You didn't stop, either; once that breath was done, you took another, gasping as if this was your first taste of air.

_Oh my god. He's alive, oh my god._

It was like witnessing a miracle. This surge of relief and pride and elation buzzed through me, and I hugged your hand close to my chest, watching in awe as you kept on breathing, kept on living even though death had just clamped its hands round your neck.

I felt myself breathe out for the first time in a while, and laughed slightly, faint with disbelieving happiness. The medic sat back a little, feeling your neck and checking your pulse, nodding at nothing in particular.

He beckoned at the ambulance, and got to his feet, the woman following suit.

"Oxygen," he called, and received a yell of confirmation. Then, two of them shooed me out of the way as they picked you up, lifting you carefully up onto the proper wheely ambulance bed thing that I hadn't even noticed was right behind me.

They slid the stretcher out from under you, leaving you limp on the bed, but still breathing. I tried to keep hold of your hand, but they took you away from me, your arm dropping down beside you as I let go.

At this point, I had a good mind to just pass out, instead of deal with all the emotions my brain was trying to keep control of. But my gut took advantage of my brain's distraction and intervened, telling me to just stay with you, 'cause in my experience, that's usually the best thing to do. I hurried after you, only stopping when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir, what are you doing?"

I whipped round. It was that woman again, the one keeping the other people away from you. "Uh...I...can't I – can't I go with him?" I gestured weakly in your direction.

"Are you immediate family?" she asked, folding her arms.

I frowned at her. I'm obviously not closely related to you, we look completely opposite. I think she knew that, though. "Uh...no?"

"Then I'm afraid you won't be able to travel with the patient. If you'd like to make your own way to the emergency department, we'll give you directions."

"But...please, can't I just stay with him?" I asked, giving her my most innocent look.

"Angela," a voice said from behind me, "he's okay, let him on." It was the guy again, the breathing guy. He gave the woman, Angela, a little nod, and she sighed.

"Fine," she huffed, then turned on her heel and marched off round the side of the ambulance.

I barely had time to thank the guy before he pulled me into the back of the vehicle, telling me to sit down and strap in. My seat was right next to you, within touching distance of your arm, which I intended to take full advantage of.

I grabbed your hand just as they shut the doors, and soon, we were off down the road, leaving the people and the fire engine behind.

It was weird, being in an ambulance. I'd been in one once before, but I'd been basically dead, so I didn't remember any of it. It was a small space, and there was a lot of scary-looking equipment around the place, and everything looked very clean, like we were already at the hospital. They'd put a mask over your nose and mouth, and propped you up a bit. I could hear you breathing, steadier now, slower like you do when you're asleep. The sound made me wanna jump for joy and cuddle you at the same time.

"You okay there?" The guy asked, snapping me from my thoughts. I'd been staring at you for a while, a glazed look on my face.

"Uh...yeah, I think so," I said, laughing faintly. I couldn't quite believe this wasn't all some horrific dream. "I think I need some of that, too." I gestured at the pure oxygen they'd given you.

He smiled. "Hey, you did good. What's your name?"

"Pete...and he's Patrick," I mumbled, like I couldn't quite remember.

"Cool. I'm Gary," he said, "and that's Mel." He pointed across the ambulance at the woman who'd been giving you the compressions. She waved at me.

"Uh...thanks, I guess. For, like, keeping him alive," I said feebly, wishing I had the energy to thank them as much as I wanted to. "So...he's gonna be alright?"

"Well, we got him breathing, that's the main thing. We gotta get his blood oxygen levels back to normal, that's what that thing on his finger's for," he gestured at the little grey device clamped round the index finger of your other hand. "He's getting there. He didn't stop breathing for very long, and we were giving him rescue breaths for quite a lot of that time, so it's looking pretty good."

I smiled, exhaling slowly as I looked at you. _I'm not gonna lose him._

"When we get to the hospital, they'll do a blood test, make sure he didn't damage any airways, 'cause smoke's a bitch when it comes to lungs, and they'll check for carbon monoxide poisoning. All kinds of nasty stuff flying around in house fires, you never know what could be in there. But, as I said, he's breathing, and he's not showing any signs of anything serious, so it's all good," he grinned, leaning back in his seat like he hadn't just brought someone back from the dead.

Warmth spread through my chest, and I squeezed your fingers as a sort of _well done._ I swear I felt your hand twitch.

"When will he wake up?" I asked, suddenly really wanting to see your eyes again.

He shrugged. "Can't say, really. Everyone's different. It's like when your phone runs outta battery; some people like to wait 'til it's fully charged before turning it back on, some people just turn it on as soon as they can. His brain might wanna wait, get itself together a bit, ya know?"

I laughed at his weird analogy. At least I understood it, though. I wondered whether you were a waiting person or not. I needn't have wondered, though.

Your hand moved a little bit, your fingers curling to fit with my own, and your breaths sped up a bit.

"Looks like he's an impatient one," Gary laughed, quickly checking your blood oxygen or whatever and nodding at the woman, Mel. "He's all good."

It was almost painful to watch as you struggled to pull your eyelids open, your eyelashes flickering and your brow furrowed as if in concentration. You made a muffled mumbly noise through the mask, like you were wondering what the fuck was attached to your face.

Slowly, you started to wake up, the blue of your eyes peeking out from under your drooping eyelids, looking around at everything, taking it all in. Then, you began to panic.

Your face became suddenly animated, and you squirmed around in the bed, breathing rapidly with wild eyes, trying to pull your arm from my grip.

"Whoa, there," the medic said, grabbing one of your thrashing arms and pushing down your shoulders, gesturing for me to do the same. "You're okay," he nodded, meeting your frantic gaze with his steady one.

You breathed hard, staring at him in terror, the muscles in your arm solid as rope. I tried to soothe you a bit, stroking the bare skin of your shoulder where your shirt and your cardigan had fallen off of it, and it seemed to work, your chest stopped panting quite as fast, and your eyes shifted to me.

"I think you've had enough of that," said Gary, and he leaned over and lifted the mask from your mouth. As soon as you were free of it, you started to cough, but it was less of an _oh shit I can't breathe_ kind of cough and more of an _oh my throat still works_ sort of thing.

I could see your mouth trying to form words, and failing miserably, but all the questions were behind your eyes. "Hey, Patrick," I said gently, glancing at the medic for encouragement. He smiled and nodded. I liked that dude. "Uh...you were in a fire, and, uh, you were unconscious for a bit, but now you've woken up and we're in an ambulance on the way to the hospital."

You stared at me for a bit, frowning, trying to remember, trying to figure everything out.

"Oxygen deficiency can cause memory loss, so don't panic if he remembers bugger all about the accident," Gary reassured me. You made a confused noise and shut your eyes again.

"I...I don't...ugh..." you started to say. My god, your voice was hoarse, like the inside of your throat had been rubbed raw.

"It's okay, sweetie, you don't have to remember. Don't worry, everything's gonna be fine," I said, more to myself than to you.

You opened your eyes again and shifted your shoulders, trying to sit up. You were looking at me strangely, blinking slowly and scanning my face for some reason. Then you said something that made me stop dead.

"Who're you?"

_What? No. No, no._

"Uh...I'm Pete?" I laughed slightly.

You just kept staring at me, a blank expression on your face.

"You know, your boyfriend, Pete?" I said again, feeling panic rising within me.

You shook your head. _Oh god, this isn't happening._

My voice jumped a few octaves. "Patrick, come on, you remember me! You've known me for eleven years, come on!" I gave you a shake, as if that might help.

Then, you burst out laughing.

I stared at you in disbelief, watching your eyes crinkle up as the croaky giggles pulled your lips into a smile.

"I'm kidding, you moron, of course I remember you," you spluttered, batting my hand lightly.

 _I hate him. I hate this kid, why the fuck do I even know him._ "You utter bastard," I spat, glaring at you, but letting relief fill me up all the same.

The medic was smirking at me too, so I rolled my eyes at him. "Can we put him back to sleep?" I asked flatly.

"Nope, you're stuck with him now," he laughed, then turned to you. "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"

You pondered the questions for a second, wriggling your fingers and your toes like you were just testing if they still worked. "Everything's a bit...dizzy. My chest is sort of...bruisy, and, uh, my mouth tastes funny."

"You just got resuscitated, you're bound to feel a bit strange. Go easy on the moving about, your brain's got a lot of clearing up to do. And we had to give you chest compressions, there's gonna be some damage to your chest, mostly bruising probably, at worst a broken rib, but I don't think that's the case?" he wondered, looking at the woman.

She shook her head and gave you an encouraging smile. I decided I like the ambulance people.

"You're gonna have breathed in quite a bit of smoke, that's what your mouth tastes of, and that's mostly what the doctors will wanna look at, 'kay?"

"'Kay," you hummed, letting your eyes fall shut.

"Hey, Patrick," I suddenly wondered, "do you remember anything about what happened? Like, where was the fire, how did it start?"

"Uh..." you frowned, your eyebrows knitting together. "I...uh...not much. Or...wait, I remember a bit...oh. Oh, fuck..." you mumbled. Then you started to giggle again.

"What? What is it?" I said with a confused smile.

"I'm such an idiot," you sighed, still laughing wistfully.

"Patrick," I warned. "What happened? What caused it?"

You sighed again. "Oh god, okay. Promise you won't laugh?"

I scoffed. "Not promising anything."

"Fine," you huffed. "I tried to cook you a birthday cake."

I immediately burst into fits of giggles. _He's an idiot, I'm going out with an idiot._

"Hey! It's not that funny," you scowled.

"You cook for the first time in twenty-eight years and you nearly burn down an entire block of flats? That's hilarious," I laughed. "How on earth did you manage that?"

"Listen, it wasn't the cooking that was the problem, it was...well, okay, it was me being stupid."

"Go on then, what happened?"

You sighed, screwing your eyes up and trying to think back. "Uh...so, I did actually bake the cake. It was one of those ready-mix ones, you know, in the packets, where you add the oil and the water? I figured I could handle that. So that went fine, and then I did the icing, and for that you have to melt chocolate and stuff, but that went okay too. But, uh...um," you struggled, "I was cleaning up, and you know that really high shelf I can't reach? I was trying to get the vegetable oil back in the cupboard, but I dropped it, and it smashed, like, everywhere, this huge bottle, all over the counter and the carpet and stuff.

"So then I went to go clear it up, got a tea-towel to collect all the bits of glass, and then I went to get a cloth for the oil and I tipped all the glass in the bin and...sort of...threw the towel somewhere. Uh...turned out I'd left the stove on, from when I was doing the icing, and the towel caught fire really fast, and...uh...then the fire reached the oil, and...it just went everywhere, all along the counter and the carpet and it spread so fast, and y'know how my kitchen is kinda horseshoe shaped? Well, it sorta trapped me in.

"I tried to put it out, but it got so big and I couldn't get to the sink, and the carpet burned really fast, then the table caught and the microwave exploded so I called 911. They told me to get away from it, but the furthest I could get was the utility room thing, y'know the one off the side of the kitchen? I kinda curled up in the far corner, and the fire couldn't reach me 'cause it's tiled in there, but then the smoke started coming in real fast, then it got really hard to breathe. I don't remember much after that."

"Fuck..." I breathed, staring at you open-mouthed. That sounded terrifying.

"What happened after?" you asked, looking at me worriedly, and around at the whirring ambulance machines.

"Uh," I stumbled, not really wanting to think back to that awful phone call. I told you anyway, though, about how I drove to your place, the ambulance, how you weren't breathing. How I nearly lost you forever. I cuddled your arm a bit tighter when I got to that bit. It kinda felt like those few minutes where you weren't breathing were just a nightmare, like they hadn't really happened.

You listened, sorta just taking it all in, quite calm about the whole thing, like you hadn't just come back from the dead. "Okay. What time is it?" you asked, looking around as if there might be a clock floating through the air.

I checked my phone. "Twenty to two," I said, and you groaned. "What is it?"

"I made lunch reservations," you sighed.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Nah, don't worry about it. I mean, you got a pretty good excuse."

You gave me an apologetic smile, then closed your eyes again. "Thank you. For, like, being here and stuff."

"That's okay. Thanks for not dying."

"S'okay," you sighed happily. Then, you patted my arm, smiling. "Hey, Pete?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm on fiyaaaaaah!" you hummed, laughing at your own stupid song, moving your head in time to an imaginary beat. I smiled at you, maybe out of relief more than anything, flicking you in the arm. 

You began to drift off to sleep, your body going limp and your breaths slowing down. You didn't let go of my hand, though.

-

So anyway, we got to the hospital, they did a fuck load of tests which made you increasingly pissed off, they put needles in you and tubes through you and scanned all your insides to check you weren't gonna die, until finally, they said you could go. After all that, you got away with nothing but a sore throat and a 0.01% higher chance of lung cancer.

After about five hours of faffing, we finally got out of there. You'd already called your parents, and various other people, now we just had to get home, 'cause we had no cars and you had no shoes. Joe was living with his brother, not far from my house, and flying back and forth to New York every so often, so I decided he was probably closest.

I finally got my phone back from you, and we lounged in the corridor, waiting for him to pick up, you with your feet tucked underneath you and your head on my shoulder.

"Pete?" Joe buzzed, picking up after a couple rings.

"Hello," I said heavily.

"Hey, happy birthday, man! I dropped by earlier but you weren't in. You had a good day?"

I choked out a laugh. "Uh...well, yeah, about that...can you pick us up from the hospital?"

"What? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's all Patrick's fault," I said, smiling at your frown.

"Why, what happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine, he just decided today would be a good day to burn down his apartment," I carried on, ignoring your annoyed pokes.

"What?!" Joe barked, "what the fuck?"

"Don't panic, it's okay, he says, and I quote, _it's fine because I only stopped breathing for a couple minutes."_

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Look, don't stress, I already did enough of that for everyone. We just need a lift home, that's all."

"Well, yeah, sure, but, like, what the fuck?"

I sighed. "Patrick'll tell you what happened."

"So he's okay?"

"Apart from being a huge idiot, yeah."

"Right, okay. Uh...you at Evanston?"

"Yep." Same one as last fucking time.

"Cool. I'll be over in a bit."

"Thanks, dude. We'll meet you outside the emergency bit."

"Okay. Uh...bye."

He hung up. I sighed. You were scowling at me, so I cuddled you. That usually cheers you up.

Anyway, Joe gave us a lift, asked a fuck load of questions, you answered them and I sat in the back seat, still trying to recover. He took us to your house, 'cause my car was there and you wanted to see what the damage was.

It was weird being back there. You wouldn't ever have guessed someone had nearly died earlier, no-one was around, the fire engine was gone. Yet if I closed my eyes, I could still see you, spread on the ground, nothing more than a body.

I made sure to link arms with you as soon as I could.

We waved Joe goodbye as he drove off, telling us that he was gonna check in tomorrow so we could celebrate properly. I wasn't sure if he meant my birthday or your survival. 

As we walked towards the building, though, I could tell something was wrong. You hadn't said much, and you weren't looking at me, either.

"You know I was joking when I called you an idiot, right?" I asked, lacing our fingers together.

You sighed. "But I _am_ an idiot. I fucking ruined everything."

"No, seriously, I was joking on the phone. I don't care that this happened today, I just care that you're alright," I said quietly.

"But I just – ugh, I can't believe fucked up this badly."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault. Coulda happened to anyone," I shrugged.

"No, it couldn't. This was bound to happen to me."

At this point, we were trudging up the stairs, arm in arm, but only physically. You were drifting into what I've nicknamed _the danger zone,_ that place in your head where you think horrid things about yourself.

I know the cure, though. I turned to you, grabbing both your shoulders and pushing you up against the wall, looking into your eyes fiercely.

"Listen, Patrick. This wasn't your fault. Like, at all. And you didn't ruin anything, I mean, look on the bright side, I got a trip in the ambulance, that was fun. I've never been that close to a fire engine. And, I'll never make you cook again, so, it's all good, really."

You laughed a little, and I took advantage of you finally looking at me to dive at your mouth, crushing my lips into yours and running my hands down your arms, resting them on your waist. I hadn't kissed you since this morning, and it'd been too fucking long, so I didn't hold back, ignoring that we were in full view of anyone who came down or up the stairs, pushing my tongue into your mouth and my hips up against yours.

It was only when I stroked my tongue along the roof of your mouth that I realised why you hadn't kissed me sooner.

"Oh my god, what the hell?" I exclaimed, pulling away and making a face at you. "You taste like fucking shit."

You scowled, batting my arm. "Hey, you initiated the tongue!"

"You need a shower. And new clothes." I said, sniffing at your cardigan, which reeked of smoke. "And some shoes."

You just rolled your eyes at me and pulled me up the stairs, not stopping 'til we reached your flat.

They'd replaced your door with this slab of plywood, I guess your old one had to be kicked down, and you looked kinda nervous as you pushed it open. As soon as you did, I smelt the air the fire had left behind.

We both had our hands over our mouths as we crept down your hallway. Everything looked okay, when we got to the lounge, the sofa was alright, everything in your living room was still there. But all your stuff was coated in this layer of slight grey, it sorta hung in the air around us, like it'd moved in in place of you.

"Fuck," I said, staring around. The whole place looked like something from a horror movie, like someone had died here and still lurked behind the furniture. The thought made me jump to catch up with you.

And the kitchen, oh my god.

It wasn't even a kitchen, more like a block of charcoal carved into a room. The carpet was fucked, the floorboards underneath blackened. There were big flakes of soot everywhere, like some sort of emo snow, the stove a mess of mangled metal, and the cupboards around it looked like they'd been spray-painted black.

I felt a chill over me when I saw the darkened doorframe of the utility room. That's where you'd been trapped, where you'd nearly suffocated.

"I think I need a new kitchen," you sighed, staring around at the destruction.

I laughed. "Yeah. That might be a good idea."

You poked at the edge of the burned carpet with your toes. "I was gonna cook dinner, too."

"Really?" I said sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, nothing special, just pasta or something. But with nice sauce, and, and dessert too. Cake and ice cream. I was gonna go round your place, dressed up smart, and take you out to lunch. Then, I found this really nice walk we could do, and this cute café we'd go for afternoon tea, then I was gonna drop you home, let Andy and Joe say hi. Then I'd cook stuff, and we'd have dinner on the roof, watch the sunset and stuff. It was gonna be so fucking good," you mumbled.

I felt warmth spread through me. I always thought _I_ was the soppy romantic one. "That's amazing," I mused, trying to imagine it.

"Yeah, well, it got fucked up, didn't it? Of course."

I thought for a moment, watching you as you got miserable again. The last thing I wanted on my birthday was a miserable Patrick.

"Hey, well...we could still do that, if you wanted."

You threw me a grumpy glance. "Don't be stupid, no we couldn't."

"No, no, we could. I mean, we've still got the roof, haven't we?"

"Well, yeah, but, like, food?"

"Duh, we order pizza."

You rolled your eyes. "You're a food snob, you don't want pizza."

"Listen, I could be the snobbiest food snob around and I'd still love pizza more than anything." _Apart from maybe you._

You smiled. "Alright. But...what about pudding?"

You and your damned pudding. Looking around your kitchen, though, the hot chocolate machine had actually survived, a few scorch marks on the outside, but otherwise unscathed. I pointed at it. "Hot chocolates will do fine." Then, I thought for a second. "Wait, did you finish the cake?"

You nodded. "Yeah, it's in the fridge," you said, confused, then realised something. "Do you think it survived?"

I shrugged, walking past you and towards the blackened fridge, my feet crunching on the ashes. And sure enough, when I opened the door, there sat the cake, bathed in the bright fridge light. I cheered, grabbing the plate and hopping back towards you, setting it down on one of the un-burnt counters.

Okay, so, I'm gonna be honest, I hadn't expected much. Your past cooking attempts have generally been well-meaning but weird tasting, and when you said you'd made a cake, I'd pictured a sloppy, lopsided thing, an endearing gesture that wasn't gonna win any prizes.

I was wrong. This thing was _perfect._ It had two tiers, both smothered in glossy chocolate icing, which flowed down the sides in a faultless wave. Around the bottom edge and the middle, you'd iced a scattering of little flowers, white for the petals and dark for the middle, and on top, you'd written the words _Happy Birthday_ in beautiful calligraphy.

"Holy fuck," I breathed, staring at it open-mouthed. "That's...wow."

"Do you really like it?"

"Yeah, oh my god, thank you so much!" I engulfed you in a massive hug, still in awe at that cake. "When the hell did you get so good at cooking?"

You did your little blushy giggle thing, shrugging like this wasn't the most amazing cake anywhere ever. "Well, it's not really cooking, it was only a ready-mix thing. I cheated."

"But you're not allowed to be good at cooking too," I whined, "it's the only thing I have over you."

"Oh shut up, no it's not. I literally only did the decoration anyway."

"Hey, oh my god, we could be a team, I could cook and you could make it look amazing!" My cookery show dream was slowly taking shape.

You laughed, shaking your head at me. "Nope, never going in a kitchen again. And I need to go get changed," you finished, making a face at yourself.

"Ooh, can I watch?"

"Nope."

Shame.

Your bedroom was fine. It didn't even smell, really, the door had been shut during the fire so there was none of that grey hue.

Anyway, you had a shower, got changed, and I tidied your bedroom for you 'cause it was stressing me out, then I ordered the pizzas, then you called your landlord about insurance and stuff.

After I'd paid the delivery guy, I gathered up a load of blankets and pillows for the roof, and followed you around the place as you talked.

"...okay, so it'll all be covered? Okay, thanks. Yeah, I'm fine, really, just a bit croaky. Sorry for all the panic. Thanks. Okay. So, you'll call them? Okay. Uh, well, I'm sure I can find somewhere. Yeah, wait one second..."

You turned to me, opening your mouth, but I already knew what you were gonna ask.

"You can stay with me," I nodded, grinning.

You beamed, putting the phone back to your ear. "Okay, I'm good. Yeah. Thanks for all your help. Okay. Yeah. Thanks, bye!"

"Hey, roomie," I smirked, poking you with the corner of a pillow.

"Are you sure that's okay? My parents would probably take me, don't feel you have to-"

"This is gonna be so fun!" I squeaked, bouncing up and down. "We can stay up late and watch movies and share secrets!"

You scowled at me, but before you could accuse me of being an actual twelve-year-old, I decided I wanted to get to the roof as soon as possible so I could dump all this stuff and throw myself at you, and shoved you towards the door.

Cakes and pizzas and pillows in hand, we piled out your flat and up the stairs, hoping, as always, that no-one was already up there.

They weren't, though. It's like our own little haven that no one else knows about, it's so cute.

You eat pizza so weirdly, you nibble the crust off first, then sort of balance the rest of it in your fingers and pull at the cheese with your teeth so it goes all stretchy and ends up dangling from your mouth. I can't decide whether it's cute or gross.

I made you cut the cake, 'cause I said it was against my vows to hurt something so pretty, and holy fuck, it was almost worth the fire. I don't know what the hell you put in that icing, fairy tears or something, but I ate nearly the whole of the top tier in under five minutes.

Don't get me wrong, the dinner was pretty perfect, it was just us goofing around and laughing at the chocolate on each others' faces, but afterwards, that was the great part.

We sat among the pillows, licking our fingers and sighing contentedly. The orange sky was sprawled above us, dark blue creeping in among the clouds, a star or two glinting in the distance. It was so beautiful. But it was you I couldn't take my eyes off.

You weren't even doing anything special, just stacking the plates and brushing the crumbs off the pillows, yet I felt this wave of emotion when I looked at you, here with me. That's when everything that'd happened finally hit me.

I felt the tears in my eyes, and before I even knew what was going on, I'd started to sob. I tried to stop, I really did, wiping my face quickly and breathing deeply, but the tears came too quick, and you heard me sniff, whipping round, looking shocked.

"Pete, what – are you alright?" you said, shuffling closer to me and trying to get a better look at my face.

I nodded, but there was no use in that when my mouth tasted of tears and my face was all blotchy.

"What's the matter? Please, what's up?" you begged, rubbing one hand over my knee and using the other to tilt my chin towards you.

Giving in, I collapsed into you, wrapping my arms around you so tight that we toppled over onto the pillows, sobbing violently into your chest whilst you cradled me and hugged me back.

For a few moments, you let me cry, shushing into my ear and kissing the top of my head. I clutched at your shirt, breathing in your clean, smokeless smell, feeling your chest rise and fall, hearing the soft gurgling of your stomach and the whooshing of the air through your lungs.

Tears still leaked from my eyes as I tried desperately to compose myself, sitting up a little so I could see you better. You didn't say anything, just looked at me questioningly.

"Uh," I gulped, trying to regain the power of speech, "sorry. It's just...been a weird day."

You laughed a little. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. I dunno, I...I just realised how much I don't wanna lose you."

And the way your eyes lit up made me realise it all over again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, I know, but...Patrick, you were _dead._ You were laying right there in front of me, and you'd stopped breathing, and it all happened so quickly, and I...I could've watched you die today. My best friend in the whole world could've died today." I allowed myself another small sob.

"I didn't, though," you grinned, kissing my nose. "I'm still here to annoy you."

"Can you please stop having near-death experiences? I don't know if I can take another one," I mumbled into your shoulder, hearing you giggle.

"Okay, if you insist. At least I'm not boring," you reasoned, digging your fingers into my sides and making me squirm. "I like to keep you on your toes."

With the sleeve of your cardigan, you dabbed at my face, nearly poking me in the eye a couple times, but stopping the tears all the same, gently touching your lips to mine when you were done.

"Hey, Pete," you said suddenly, sitting up and lifting me off you, looking me straight in the face. "Uh, listen, I gotta say something." You looked worried.

I frowned at you, hoping it was nothing bad. "Okay."

You swallowed quickly. "Well, it's just that...uh...I mean, like...I...I love you."

_Oh my god._

I stared at you, hearing the voices in my head cheer loudly, metaphorical balloons dropping from the ceiling.

"Well shit," I said, blowing out a long breath.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, you don't have to-"

"Patrick-"

"...honestly please don't take that as pressure, I didn't-"

"Pat-"

"...I only told you 'cause I wanted you to know, it wasn't supposed to be-"

"Patrick!" I yelled, finally stopping your rambling. "I love you too."

You stopped, your mouth hanging open. "What?"

"I love you too, Patrick."

"Really?"

I laughed. "Yeah, I really do."

You blinked at me, chewing on your lips. Then, your face split into possibly the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen. "So... we actually managed to fall in love at, like, the same time?"

"Yeah! Fucking finally," I grinned, tutting. "Second time lucky."

It was kinda sickening how cute we were, giggling like little kids. You looked so beautiful under the night sky, moonlight on your face and your blue eyes brighter than the stars. It was hard to believe there was ever a time when I wasn't completely in love with you.

We kissed for a long time, sitting there on the roof, absorbed in each other, exploring each other's bodies and each other's minds.

It had to end, though. We cleared up, you packed a bag, we drove back to mine, where the Doritos still lay on the floor and the TV was still paused in the middle of some serious meth-brewing, like nothing had happened. But everything had happened.

-

That night was amazing.

It was weird, 'cause it was simultaneously the worst and best birthday I've ever had. I can honestly say that you're the most chaotic, stress-inducing, haphazard person I've ever met. Yet three months on, I'm still completely smitten.

You've moved back to yours now, after living with me for a couple weeks, while the fire restoration people did their stuff. Your voice is finally 'better', according to you (I didn't notice much difference after the first couple days of croakiness, but what do I know), and you're all singy again. Living with you was good for us, I think, it showed me the extent of your mess-making, and you re-learned how much of a neat freak I am. I do miss it, though.

I think I might like to make it permanent. I mean, I know it hasn't been that long, and maybe it's too soon, but I don't feel like it would be. I love you more every day, I wanna see you every day, I wanna wake up next to you every day.

That's mostly what I've been thinking about. I'm so glad you didn't die, and the best part is, so are you. I really wanted those moments on the roof to last forever. But then, the future looks pretty good too. 

 Can I just ask, though, please, please, never set fire to your house again?

I love you, you moron.

From Pete xxx


	52. Chapter 52

 

Dear Patrick,

Please come home. Please.

I need you, I want you here, I want you to tell me it's all gonna be okay.

I'm sitting in the corner, staring at my front door, willing it to open. You gotta come quick, baby, please, I know I shouldn't be needing you like this, but I never expected this to happen. I want your arms around me.

I don't know where you are. I don't know when you're coming back to me. But you have to, Patrick, you have to, my head's gone all fuzzy and my heart doesn't know what the hell to do and you're the only one I want to talk to.

I was so excited for us. I had so many plans, it was going so great, and now it's all been ruined.

I need you, Patrick. Please, baby, come home.

-

"Do you really need to leave _right now?"_ I begged shamelessly, watching you wander around my bedroom, picking up various items of clothing that'd probably been yours once.

"I have to go some point," you replied, sniffing at a crumpled sweater and frowning.

You were flying back to L.A. later that day, 'cause you wanted to get some stuff from your house, and, more importantly, 'cause you were thinking about selling your house. You spent so much time in Chicago, there wasn't much point in keeping it. To be honest, I'd forgotten you even lived there in the first place.

"How long will you be gone?" I whined, rolling over on the bed and looking at you upside-down.

You huffed at me, "I told you, I don't know. No more than a week, probably. I gotta learn how the fuck to sell a house."

"But who's gonna give me kisses for a week?"

"I'm sure Joe will, if you ask nicely."

I screwed my face up at the thought of kissing Joe. I mean, he's a very attractive man, but I'd have no idea what to do with all that damn hair.

You looped a t-shirt or two over your arm, along with your phone charger, and glanced at your watch. "Okay, I better make a move."

Groaning like a toddler, I sloped off the bed and looked at you with sulky eyes, staggering after you as you strode out of my bedroom and down the stairs.

I caught your arm just before you got to my front door.

"Pete, I gotta go," you laughed as I nuzzled your neck, "Joe's picking me up in, like, half an hour. I gotta go finish pack –"

You were cut off by me smashing my lips into yours, my hands grasping either side of your face and my thumbs digging into your cheekbones. I kept kissing, hard as I could, until you eventually shoved me away.

"Pete," you panted, tangling our fingers together, "I'm sorry, okay? You'll be fine without me."

"I know," I said lightly, "but I gotta say goodbye properly." Then, my mind decided it was a good time to jump into a pool of filth. "Hey...you know what we could do in half an hour?" I smirked, bumping my hips against yours.

"No way," you said firmly.

"What? We still got time. I'll have you screaming in seconds," I purred, running my fingers over your hips and pushing you gently against the door.

You laughed a little, shaking your head at me. "Fine. Ten minutes, then I really gotta go."

I didn't even say anything, just kissed you again, feeling you wrap your arms around my neck, letting the stuff in your hands drop to the floor. Any reluctance seemed to melt away as your hips bucked up under my hands, your fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt and our tongues rolling together. It was gonna be a whole week until I could touch you again; I wanted to make the most of it.

And I fucking did. It was quick and sweaty and loud, and I loved it, drinking in the glorious sounds that spilled from your lips as I bent you over the kitchen table and stripped you down to nothing, nipping and biting at your perfect skin so that the whole of LA would know that you belonged to me.

Five minutes later, and you were a mess, lying limp and naked and gorgeous, moaning quietly into the table, breathing hard enough for both of us. It still amazes me that _I'm_ the one that gets to do that to you.

I climbed on the table and sat down next to you, pulling my jeans on clumsily as I jabbed at you with a wet towel, then rubbed at you with a dry one. You didn't protest, just let me clean us both up with a dazed look in your eyes and a blissful smile on your face.

"'Kay," you slurred, propping yourself up on your elbows. "I really gotta go now."

"'Kay," I smiled, pushing damp hair out of your face, and taking the opportunity to slide my hands over your body, down your back to curl my fingers over your plump, round ass. "Still got three minutes to go, though."

You got the hint, rolling onto your back and letting me kiss you. We stayed like that for two whole minutes, me leaning over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other trailing over your chest, feeling the soft curve of your stomach, the slight pudge of your slim hips.

Eventually, though, you poked gently at my chest, giving me a last clumsy kiss before sitting up.

I helped you with your clothes, insisting on doing up your shirt for you to 'save time', or rather just have your bare chest to myself for a little longer, whilst you pulled on your boxers and jeans and everything else I'd tossed across the room in my haste to get you good and naked.

"Do I look like I just got fucked?" you asked, frowning at the mirror in my hallway and battling with your messed up fringe.

"Yes," I smirked from behind, with no small amount of pride, snaking my arms round your waist and resting my head on your shoulder.

"I hate you."

"Aww, I hate you too, dear," I smiled, pecking you on the cheek.

You let me place your fedora gently on your head, before I spun you round to face me and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ears, adding the finishing touches to my masterpiece.

"All done. Joe won't suspect a thing. Now get the hell out, I don't know what's keeping you," I tutted, shaking my head at you.

You scoffed at me, reaching for the door handle with one hand but pulling me closer with the other, lightly pressing our lips together. "Love you," you smiled, bumping our noses.

I almost forgot to say it back, slightly too dazed from the feel of your breath on my face to notice you'd yanked the door open and snagged the t-shirts up from the floor. "Love you too," I slurred as you pulled away.

"Miss you already," you smiled, shoving me gently in the chest before trotting out the door and down my driveway.

"Say hi to LA!" I called, leaning on the open door-handle. "Don't kiss any handsome strangers!"

"Nah, I won't. I'll only sleep with them, don't worry."

I laughed, and you gave me a last wave as you got in your car. I watched you drive the length of the road, smiling after you the whole time.

I smiled even wider when you'd disappeared.

Prancing back inside my house, I cheered out loud, 'cause finally, you were gone, and I could drop the _don't leave I'm gonna miss you_ act. Let's face it, if I was actually that desperate to be with you, I'd have begged to go with you, or at least to take you to the airport.

I mean, granted, I really was gonna miss you, hence the desperate kisses and the last-minute sex session, but now the sappy part of my brain had been satisfied, the actually-getting-stuff-done part could take over.

Shoving my shirt over my head, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and tapped the green button next to Andy's name.

"Pete?"

"Yep."

"Has he gone?"

"Yep."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up.

The minutes before he arrived were spent disinfecting the entire kitchen, because although the sex had been great, it had also been horrifically unhygienic. I'm surprised the kitchen table didn't dissolve from the amount of cleaning stuff I doused it in.

"Ugh, you just got laid, didn't you," was the first thing Andy said when he saw me.

I felt my cheeks heat up; I'd done my best to look less dishevelled, changed my shirt and tamed my hair from its mighty afro state, but the grin on my face must've given me away. "Let's just say that walking is gonna be difficult for Patrick tomorrow," I smirked.

For that, I got a disgusted look and a punch in the shoulder. Totally worth it, though.

"One more mention of sex with my best friend, and I walk," he growled, pushing past me and down the hall.

"Oh, hey, did I tell you about the time I fucked him up against the wall of the -"

"Stop talking right now," he snapped, putting his fingers in his ears and giving me an I-am-actually-going-to-kill-you-in-a-minute look.

I nearly laughed, but he was dead serious, and he's definitely capable of whooping my ass in a fight so I just swallowed it back and followed him into the lounge.

"You got maps?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me as he flopped down on the couch.

"Yep, right here." I scampered across the room to the bookcase, yes I read books, and scooped out a pile of tattered old Chicago road maps, plus my laptop from its charging spot.

Everything got dumped on the table, along with some brochures Andy had brought, and with two neat-freaks at hand, was quickly arranged into nice little piles.

"Okay," Andy nodded, already pleased with our handiwork, "let's fucking do this."

-

Five hours later, we were buried in paper. The maps had scribbles all over them, little red marks and lines joining the dots and areas shaded in. It kinda felt like we were detectives hunting some mass murderer.

Basically, you'd been looking for a permanent house in Chicago, so you could move out of your little flat. You'd told me you wanted to stay in the area, not too close to the city, but not too far away from the studio and from us lot and from your parents'. So we'd marked out all those places, then drawn lines between them all, then a circle round the outside of that area to give us a bit of wriggle room.

Basically, we were searching for houses. Because basically, I want to live with you.

I'd had my mind made up for quite a while. You'd pretty much moved in anyway, I mean, you keep your phone charger at mine, we're practically married. I don't know what's yours and what's mine anymore. Well, I do, 'cause your stuff's always the stuff I trip over on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I could've just asked you to move in with me, make it official. But I've been stuck in the same damn house for too long, I gotta get out. The new us deserves a proper place to live, together, not mine or yours but ours. I wanna be the person you come home to.

So anyway, Andy had agreed to help me find somewhere, which was proving quite difficult 'cause I had an image in my mind of where we might live already, and nothing quite matched up to it. I think he was ready to slap me by the end, I rejected so many options. We didn't end up getting very far.

But we didn't give up, either. The next day, productivity seemed to be on our side, finally coming up with a couple places I quite liked, hardly even stopping for food in our frantic house-hunt. I don't know if it's completely wise to try to buy a house in a week, but I do know that we very nearly managed it.

It was going so well.

-

"Okay. This is actually quite nice," I admitted, looking around at the high ceilings of a place Andy had picked out.

"Told you so," he said smugly. "I am the master of houses."

It was in the suburbs, a few miles from the lake, and the studio, and it was really fucking pretty. It had big windows and a cute little cosy sofa area and a spiral staircase, kinda like yours in LA. There was even a basement that we could turn into our very own studio.

"So, as you can see, lots of space, lots of light, perfect for a new couple," the estate agent said, clapping her hands together and beaming at me. "Three bedrooms, three bathrooms. If you're thinking of starting a family, this is the place for you."

I knew she was just trying to sell me this place, just spouting her usual drivel, but I felt a little stir of something inside me. "Andy," I said quietly, realising something for the first time. "I want a family with him."

Andy's eyebrows shot up his head, pulling the corners of his mouth up with them. "Dude..." he smiled, scanning my face as I gazed at him with wide eyes. He looked like he might cry. Instead, he patted my shoulder, nodding his head slowly.

"Uh...would you like to see the garden?" the agent butted in, killing mine and Andy's little proud moment, but not the warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would," I said, grinning.

My grin didn't fade, either, as we looked round the rest of the place. All I could think about was us, and our future, and what we could have together. So much for taking things slow.

It had a small garden, mostly lawn but a few flowerbeds here and there, enough space for my tree when it gets bigger. Maybe if it gets really big, we could hang a little swing from one of the branches, and our kids could sit on it while we push them.

The upstairs is nice too, the master bedroom has a balcony which faces west so we can watch the sunset. And, and the bath is huge so we can definitely have joint bathing sessions, I could even buy bubble bath and scented candles and we could cuddle there.

"So, Mr. Wentz, would you like to put in an offer?" the agent, Sue, her name was, said hopefully when I'd finally finished gawking at all the rooms.

"Uh..." I pondered, my heart screaming _yesyesyes_ but my head telling it to shut the fuck up 'cause I haven't even put my house on the market and you might not even wanna live there, or with me at all.

"You don't have to make a decision right away."

"Uh...well, I gotta actually ask him first," I said, looking at Andy for support. My plan had been to find a place, a perfect place, get everything ready as far as I could without doing anything permanent, then ask you if you wanted to live with me and if you said yes, then I'd show you the place.

"We'll get back to you in a few days," Andy spoke for me, like he was the one moving in with me. To be honest, he'd probably be tidier and quieter than you are.

We thanked her for her time, Andy pretty much dragging me out the door.

"So," he said, once we were back in his car, on the way to my place. "You think that might be the place?"

I had to physically stop myself from bouncing up and down in the seat, nodding at him excitedly. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"I think he'd like any house you chose as long as you're the one he gets to live in it with," he shrugged, and I beamed.

"You don't think it's too big a leap? That it'll freak him out?"

"Nah, he's not that easily freaked. You're the freaky one."

"Yeah," I admitted, sitting on my hands to stop myself drumming on the dashboard. "But, like, you think he'll wanna even live with me?"

Andy tutted at me. "Dude, stop it. He loves you, of course he's gonna wanna live with you. And, if he doesn't, just get the house anyway, it's fucking amazing. Just like I said."

I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn't quite force the smile off my face. We were gonna be so happy, you and me.

Until today.

-

Joe actually looked genuinely happy when I told him about the house. I think there's still a part of me that expects him to disapprove of us, like maybe he's got you signed up to Match.com behind my back, but the punch in the shoulder he gave me told me that I had full Joe-cooperation when it came to moving in with you.

"So you're gonna ask him as soon as he gets back?" he'd asked, watching my front door as if you might suddenly burst through it.

"Yeah, I think so. As soon as I can, anyway." I fiddled with the bass in my lap, plucking out some random notes as we talked.

"Wow. It's really going well for you two this time, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I grinned. At that point, I didn't know he'd jinxed it.

"Cool," he said awkwardly, then turned his attention to his guitar. We'd been jamming for a couple hours, making the most of the time without you bossing us around. "Hey, so I was thinking something like this..."

He played a short little riff on the guitar, a low, growling melody which would totally sound great with some kick-ass drums underneath.

"I dunno, I think it would go with some of the stuff we've done already. You got any really mean lyrics? 'Cause I'm feeling some, like menacing vocals, y'know? Sorta angry anthem type thing?"

"That's cool. I'll annoy Patrick in the studio beforehand, that'll make him menacing," I pondered, shrugging. "Get some drums with it, it could be pretty good."

"Shower me in compliments, why don't you," said Joe, dryly.

"I'm on it," Andy announced, tapping at the laptop in front of him.

"Somebody make me angry," I frowned, grabbing a notebook and pen. It weird, the lyrics I'd written recently had mostly been fluffy love-song material. I blame you.

"Uh...you're a jerk," Joe suggested, "you're annoying? Uh...you have stupid hair?"

"You dress weird," Andy interjected.

"Okay, shut up now. I didn't just mean insult me," I tutted. "And for the record, my hair is a work of art."

I spent most of the rest of the day sulking, as a form of protest, occasionally nodding at whatever Andy and Joe had come up with. It sounded pretty cool by the end, even you might like it. I'm thinking we could sneak a rap in there somewhere, too.

It was around tea time when they finally decided to stop and take a break. We all were in desperate need of coffee, and I was busy staring at the kettle, willing it to boil faster. I could hear the others arguing, Joe repeatedly strumming loud and horrific guitar noises at Andy to shut him up. Then, there was a knock at the door.

I groaned out loud, not in the mood for socialising right now, thumping out the kitchen, past Andy and Joe and down the hall, trying to remember if I'd ordered anything.

Throwing a hand out, I lazily pulled the door open, my eyes focussing on the person in front of me.

It was an old man. He was grey-haired and balding, deep lines in his face and a lean figure.

Realisation hit me like a brick. My stomach tightened, my chest caved in on itself and it suddenly got very hard to breathe. _No. This isn't happening. No._

As my vision began to blur, I managed to spit out one word.

"Dad?"

He nodded. "Peter."

I slammed the door shut.

The world began to spin, and I let myself fall to the floor,  breathing hard.

_It can't be him. It can't be him. This isn't happening._

I heard a click of metal, jumping away from the door and staring at it, terrified, before I realised it was just the letterbox. A single slip of paper fell to the floor at my feet.

On my knees, I scrabbled for it, crumpling it between my fingers as I picked it up. It was a phone number. I screwed it up into a ball and hurled it at the door. Then I screwed myself up.

"Pete? Who was it?" somebody shouted, their voice blurry. Then footsteps.

"Pete? What happened?" The voice was nearer now.

I looked up to see Joe hovering above me, Andy right behind.

Talking seemed difficult, my mouth flapped, the words scrambled in my brain. "I...uh...my dad..."

They looked at each other, their faces frowning. "Your dad? But...you don't...uh, you don't-"

"I don't have a dad, I fucking know!" I shouted, my voice shaking even more than my hands.

"Are you sure?" Joe asked, peering out the hall window. I heard the sound of a car pulling out.

"Yes I'm fucking sure!"

"Okay, alright...uh...well, I think he's gone now."

I nodded, pressing my hands into my eyes and making everything go white. I wished I could stay in the whiteness forever, but I had to get up.

Andy grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, gripping my shoulder. I tried to focus on his grip, anchoring me to reality.

"You're okay, come on," Andy said, leading me into the lounge.

"No. He can't be here, he can't. He can't." I repeated, shaking my head.

Joe flitted around us, wringing his hands together. "Uh...how...how long since you saw him?"

"Twenty years. Twenty fucking years." I couldn't process this. My brain wasn't powerful enough to make sense of it.

"Wow. Right. Okay. So, he found you?"

"Of course he fucking found me, or he wouldn't fucking be here, would he!" I screamed, shoving Andy off me and curling my hands into fists.

"Dude, calm down," Andy said, his tone measured, his hands held out in front of him. "It'll be okay."

"How do you fucking know?! Your dad's fucking dead!"

He recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Don't you dare talk about my dad like that," he growled, muscles tensing.

"I don't care, he's not coming back any time soon!" I yelled, dragging in ragged breaths.

"Shut your fucking mouth," he snarled, stepping towards me.

"Make me."

The next thing I felt was a fist slamming into my stomach.

I doubled over, stumbling backwards and tasting bile in the back of my throat.

When I looked up, Joe was wrestling Andy away from me. "Stop! You're a pacifist, remember?"

He nodded slowly, beginning to calm down. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay," he breathed, flexing his jaw.

"Pete, you okay?" Joe asked, standing between me and Andy.

I straightened up, my hands still clenched and tension rising in my bones, but I nodded anyway.

"Okay. Right. Everybody calm the fuck down. It's gonna be fine."

"No it's not!" I shouted again, but this time, my voice cracked, and I felt sobs gather in my throat.

Joe visibly jumped. He was trying his best to be the reasonable one, but he didn't know how to stop me bawling my eyes out and there was panic written all over his face. "Uh...should we call Patrick?" he asked quietly, glancing at me, then Andy.

I looked up at the mention of your name. Suddenly it was the only thing I could think about.

"Yeah. Do it," Andy nodded quickly, motioning at Joe's pocket, and the outline of his phone.

"Okay," Joe sighed, relief in his voice, taking his phone out and tapping at it a few times.

I watched, trying to stay alert, and keep my balance, eyes wide with anticipation as Joe held the phone to his ear.

"Hello? Hey, yeah, it's me. Yeah. Well, no, it's not. Are you in the middle of something? Okay, cool. Listen, uh..." he glanced at me quickly, "I think you should talk to Pete," he finished.

I stumbled over to him, wanting so bad to hear your voice, reaching for the phone like a blind man reaches for a railing.

"Okay, uh...here he is."

"Patrick," I panted, like I'd just run a mile.

"Pete?" you buzzed, your voice distorted by the reception, but sending waves of relief through me all the same. "Are you okay? What's happened?"

"Patrick. Patrick, uh...uh...my, my dad...he came back."

There was a short pause. All I could hear was you breathing, soft and steady.

"Okay," you said finally. "Alright. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, but...but, I don't....I don't know..." I stammered, not knowing how to form a proper sentence.

"Pete, take deep breaths. You gotta breathe, okay?"

I tried to do what you said. I filled my lungs up as much as I could, then blew the air out slowly through my mouth, so you could hear.

"Good. Okay, keep doing that. Can you tell me how you feel?"

You were doing your therapist thing, and it was exactly what I needed. "Uh...dizzy, and, uh, angry, and upset, and...bruisy."

"Bruisy?"

"Andy just punched me," I explained, my stomach beginning to ache like crazy.

There was another short pause. "Okay. Go and drink some water, can you do that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," I nodded, stumbling towards the kitchen and pouring myself a glass. It cooled me down a bit, made me think a little straighter. "It feels better."

"Good. Keep breathing, okay? Now go and sit down, yeah?"

I flopped back into the lounge and down on the couch. "Okay. But...but, Patrick, I can't...I don't...I need you, Patrick."

"No, you don't. You can do this by yourself, okay?" you said firmly.

"Okay," I replied, unconvinced. "But I want you."

"I know, but you're gonna be fine, 'kay? I'll try to get back as soon as I can, but it's gonna be a few hours, yeah? Can you look after yourself until then?"

I thought about screaming _no_ into the phone, begging you to somehow defy distance and appear here with me, right now. But I knew better than that. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Joe and Andy are there?"

"Yeah...but, I don't know if I want them to be," I said quietly.

"You wanna be by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Are you okay to be left alone?"

I kept breathing steadily, testing my brain for any sign of flight risk. "Yeah."

"Right. I'll tell them to leave, but if anything happens, you go to them, okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright. It's gonna be okay, trust me."

"Okay."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? In the meantime, distract yourself. Do some cooking, write some lyrics. I love you."

"I love you too," I said, with as much conviction as I could possibly muster.

"Give the phone back to Joe now."

"Okay." I held the phone out, and Joe took it warily.

"Hello? Yeah, yeah. No, it's fine now, he's fine. Right. Are you sure? Okay. Yeah, yeah, of course. Yep. No, no, it's fine, I'll pick you up. Okay. See you soon. Yeah. Bye."

You were gone. I slumped back on the sofa, wishing it could swallow me up.

"Uh...okay, so...we're gonna go..." Joe said uncertainly, patting Andy's arm.

I nodded, staring at the floor.

"Sorry for punching you," Andy said, sounding like he meant it.

I shrugged. "I deserved it."

He laughed a little. "Well...yeah, you kind of did. But sorry all the same."

"'S fine."

They left quietly, taking various instruments with them.

I was left alone.

I did what you said for a little while. I baked some cookies, that usually calms me down. I tried writing some lyrics. Then I wrote this.

I'm trying, Patrick. I'm really trying not to be what I used to be. But it's difficult, 'cause I can feel everything stirring, all the stuff I thought I'd stamped out. It'll always be there, I know that, but I can always control it. I don't know if I'm gonna be able to do that now.

Maybe it's bad that I'm alone. Maybe it's not the best thing for me. But you knew, you knew I wanted to be alone, not for my benefit, but for theirs. I want to be alone because when I'm like this, I don't trust myself. You of all people know what happens if I get emotionally weak, and angry.

That's what makes me so terrified. My dad turned up. My dad, who lost the right to be called family when he ditched me twenty years ago, was right outside my door. And with him, he brought every single memory I'd repressed, all the anger I felt, all the hurt. I spent so long trying to fight that. What if I go back to how I used to be? What if I lash out, what if I hurt you? What if, the moment you walk through the door, I feel that same anger, what if I make you scared, make you bleed, make you cry?

And yet, I want you more than anything in this world. I want you to hug me and make me feel wanted, too.

But he's fucked up everything. This can't happen now, I've got so many plans. He'll intrude, he'll ruin my whole life just like he did last time. I'll end up alone, just like last time.

I can't lose you. Not again.

You gotta come back. I wanna feel your warmth, your breath, everything that grounds me, I need you to be my constant while I figure this out. Please, come back.

I keep telling myself that you're on your way, you'll be here soon. But I can't quite convince myself, not 'till I'm holding you in my arms. It feels like you're a million miles away.

Please, baby, please come home.

From Pete.  


	53. Chapter 53

 

Dear Patrick,

I'd never been so happy to hear the sound of Joe's car pulling into the driveway.

The hours I'd spent waiting for you had felt like years; I was surprised my body hadn't merged into the couch, my face forever imprinted with the patterns on the cushions.

My bones cracked as I began to stir. Everything was numb, my vision bleached white like I'd died on the sofa and this was the afterlife. It couldn't be, though, 'cause I could hear your footsteps on the gravel, you were _alive,_ and so was I. And so was my dad.

The sound of a key in the lock made me blink fast, my head finally beginning to shake off the duvet of dizziness that seemed to have been smothering it. You were here, at last. You'd make everything better, like you always do.

I was so ready to just rush at the door, throw it open and scoop you up in my arms. After hours of waiting with only my mind for company, the thought of seeing you again was the only thing keeping me sane. And yet, I was completely terrified of it.

I didn't run to you. I just stood in the middle of the lounge, staring down the hall, my hands knotted up behind my back. _Don't hurt him. Whatever you do, don't hurt him._

The door swung open, and there you were, wrestling with huge suitcases which looked ridiculous in the hands of such a small person. You looked up, and my chest tightened. You dropped the cases, shut the door behind you, toed your shoes off, and suddenly, you were marching towards me.

I took a few steps backwards, shaking my head at you, using every ounce of my brainpower to stop myself thinking of anything that might get me angry. I promised never ever to hit you again, but it was more than a promise. My entire life was bound up in it. _I can't lose him again._

You paid exactly zero attention to my protests, though. Before I knew it, you'd slammed into me, throwing your arms around me and squeezing me as tight as you could, your breath tickling my ear. And I, of all people, know that once a Stump is hugging you, struggling is pointless.

My fingers untangled themselves and curled around your waist, my head dropping into your shoulder. Suddenly, anger was the last thing on my mind, exhaustion forcing a sigh from me. Breathing through your shirt, I drank in your scent, faint aftershave mixed with sweat mixed with something that was just...I don't know, just _Patrick._

"Love you," I mumbled, my mouth feeling your collarbone under the fabric.

Your lips brushed the side of my head, your hands rubbing slow circles into my back. "It's gonna be okay," you murmured, squeezing me tighter.

I ignored the fact that you couldn't know that, the fact that this could bring my whole world down on top of both of us, and let myself believe you.

Pulling back, you put your hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake. "You're okay. We're gonna talk this out, yeah?"

At that moment, _talking it out_ sounded like the worst idea in the world; I just wanted to curl up somewhere with you and sleep through this whole thing. You weren't gonna let me do that, though, obviously.

"Hey, no," you said firmly, poking me in the chest, "you're not keeping all those feelings to yourself, it's not healthy, you know that."

I sighed, hating that you were right. But this was exactly why I wanted you here, so you could make me do the things I didn't wanna do and make me feel better.

You took your hands away and pushed at my own, stepping away from me. I felt a wave of something like homesickness, wanting you back in my arms right now.

"Do I smell cookies?" you asked suddenly, lifting the sombre atmosphere, nose in the air.

I nodded. You beamed, scampering over to the kitchen like a cookie-seeking missile, cheering when you found them, holding the plate up Lion King style. Against my will, I felt myself smile.

"Aha! I saw that," you announced, pointing at me and looking around at imaginary spectators. "Cookies and talking, that's all you need." Hopping back over to me, plate in hand, you hooked an arm around me and guided me over to the sofa. I slumped into it like dropped spaghetti, and you followed suit, cross-legged and facing me with the cookies in your lap.

"Okay," you said, more gently this time. "Your dad."

I nodded in answer to a question that hadn't been asked, blowing out a slow breath. I made sure I was sitting on my hands.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

 _No, I can't, I don't want to, go away, I might hurt you, please god don't let me hurt you._ "Well," I started, swallowing dryly, "he...turned up. I just opened the door, and he was there."

"And what did you do?"

"I shut the door again, then he went away."

"Okay," you said calmly. "How long has it been?"

"Twenty years, near-on," I sighed, dropping my gaze.

You shuffled closer, touching my knee briefly. "Do you – uh, do you wanna talk about when he left you?"

I could tell you were worried. I'd never really talked about my childhood with you. You probably knew more than anyone else, piecing it together from stuff I said, you knew I hated my parents, my family, you knew I'd grown up pretty much alone.

This was it, then. Storytime.

"Alright," I said quietly, knowing I probably wasn't ready for this, but giving in to your gaze all the same. "Okay. So, uh, until I was, like, thirteen years old, I, uh, they brought me up, I guess. Him and my mum. But, uh, I guess I...got, like, difficult. I, uh, would get angry, and stuff, and come home drunk and run away sometimes. They hated that. They'd shout at me the whole fucking time, and try to get me to have counselling and all that bullshit, but I wouldn't.

"I got expelled from a couple schools, and then they started to talk to people. Have conversations about me behind my back about _what to do with me,_ or whatever. Money was kinda tight, they couldn't keep up the medications and stuff. So they put me in care.

"I never forgave them for that. Never. They gave up on me. I hated every second of that fucking care home, all the other kids, all the social workers. My parents never visited, I never let them. I spent three years there, but when you turn sixteen, that's it. You're out of the system. So I was on my own. This house was the only good thing I got, apparently my aunt left it to me or some shit like that. So that's my fucked up childhood."

After staring at my knees for so long, I glanced up at you. Your lips were slightly parted and your eyes were wide, an uneaten cookie clasped in your hand.

"Pete, I-"

"Nah, you don't have to apologise. It's in the past, I just...didn't expect the past to come back anytime soon," I said with a bitter laugh.

You nodded, gnawing on your lips. I could see you trying your damnedest to think of something to say. But the problem was that even with your compassionate nature, you just didn't understand.

I don't think I needed you to understand, though. I wasn't looking for someone who'd gone through the same thing, someone I could rant with about how much families suck, I just needed support, some kind of continuity through all this. You, basically.

Taking a bite out of the cookie in your hand, you chewed thoughtfully. "'Kay," you gulped, "So...I guess, the question is, do you wanna see him again?"

"No," I snapped, glaring at my knees again.

"Why not?"

I felt a flash of anger. "What?! Did you not hear what I just said? He ditched me, Patrick, he hates me, I hate him! Why the fuck would he just turn up like that, after all this time, and expect me to just be okay with it?!" I yelled, shaking. I slid my hands further underneath me.

You placed a hand on my arm. "Hey, I'm sorry. I just...wouldn't it be good to hear what he has to say?"

"Fuck off, I don't care."

"But, you're not a kid anymore. Look at everything you've done, all by yourself. If anything, this is a gloating opportunity," you reasoned.

I almost smiled at that. Then it disappeared. "It'll ruin everything," I said quietly.

"What will it ruin?" you asked gently.

"What if he tries to force his way into my life? What if he wants money, or tries to blackmail me, or, or..." I trailed off with a huff, trying to think of more worst-case scenarios.

"But if he left you alone as soon as you shut the door, maybe that's not the case."

"Piss off, you don't know a damn thing about this," I spat.

"I know he left a phone number. What if he just wants to talk?"

"No."

"But-"

"Why the fuck are you on his fucking side!? I shouted, glaring at you.

You didn't flinch. "This isn't about sides, Pete. And if it was, you know I'm always with you. I don't know, just – what've you got to lose? You meet up with him, get your questions answered, and if he's a dick, you forget about him."

"You," I said quietly.

"What?"

"You," I repeated. "You're what I've got to lose."

You blinked. "Pete, why – you're not gonna lose me, why would you think that?" you breathed, incredulous.

"Because," I swallowed, "because he'll ruin everything. I'll – I'll go back to what I was like back then."

"Don't be stupid, no you won't," you asserted, rolling your eyes at me.

"I will! He'll make me angry, he'll – I'll end up hurting you, Patrick, and I can't do that, I can't do that to you again!" I cried, shuffling away from you.

You put the cookies on the table, and reached out for me.

"No, don't," I said, bowing my head.

I felt you tug on my arm, pulling my hand out from underneath me, folding it together with your own. I tried to jerk it away, but you held on tight, tracing my palm with your thumb. "You won't, Pete. I know you won't."

You brought my fingers to your lips and kissed them gently, nuzzling into them like a kitten. I watched, smiling a little, before taking a chance and grazing my knuckles over your cheek. You looked travel-worn, your hair limp beneath your hat and a hint of grey under your eyes, but you smiled anyway, your skin soft under my fingers. I'd never hit you. I know that now.

"Okay," I nodded, finally feeling a bit of self-belief rise up inside me after my moment of madness.

Grinning, you proceeded to squeeze the life out of my arm, hugging it to your chest and shifting so that our shoulders were touching. "Good. So...do you wanna call him?"

My subconscious screamed a firm _no,_ but you quirked a hopeful smile at me, and I melted, just like always. "Uh...I don't know. If it was you, what would you do?"

Your face fell a little. "Pete, I – I don't know. I can't decide this for you. But, whatever you wanna do, I'll go with it."

"You want me to call him, don't you," I sighed.

Huffing through your nose, you rested your head on my shoulder. "I just think it'd be good. I mean, yeah, it might go horribly. But, you can hardly have a worse relationship with him than you already do. And, if it goes well, then...it's one less burnt bridge to worry about. Making amends feels good, I promise," you insisted, playing with my fingers.

"But he can't just waltz back into my life and expect me to play happy families. In anything other than blood, he's not my dad."

"I know. You don't have to pretend like nothing happened, just tell him how you feel, get your questions answered, then decide whether you wanna let him back in, if not as a parent, as a friend, I guess."

You were looking at me with your big eyes, willing me to be the better person or whatever. "You're annoying," I said finally, when I couldn't think of anything else.

"Is that a yes?" you asked, sitting up slightly.

"Yes," I sighed in defeat. A reluctant yes, but a yes all the same.

You cheered, waving my hand about, then jumped off the sofa and looked around. "Where d'you put the number?"

"By the door," I grumbled, giving you my best _I don't like you_ look.

Disappearing down the hall, I heard some scuffling about, then a noise of triumph, and you reappeared, uncurling the piece of paper in your fingers.

"Right," you said as you plopped back down next to me, holding out the number.

I took it, squinting at it as if there might be some hidden message. "Uh...okay."

You looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to do something, but I just kept staring. Suddenly it all got a bit scary again.

"D'you want me to do it?" you asked gently.

I nodded, relieved. I couldn't talk to him for the first time over the phone, I wanted to be face to face. Plus, you're better at talking anyway.

Pulling out your phone, you typed carefully as I read out the number, giving me a quick _are you sure?_ look before you pressed the dial button. I reached over and put it on loud speaker. I might not wanna talk to him, but I sure as hell wanted to hear this call.

"Hello?" A voice sounded. It was him, I knew it was him.

"Uh, hi, is that Mr. Wentz speaking?" you asked, looking a bit nervous.

"Yes," he replied, "who is this?"

"I'm, uh, calling on behalf of your son, Pete. I believe you dropped by this morning?"

He made a noise of realisation. "Ah, yes, thank you for calling. Who might you be?"

"I'm Patrick, Pete's...uh..." you threw me a worried look, which I didn't understand 'til you finished your sentence. "...boyfriend." He never even knew I was gay.

"Oh," he said, pausing a bit. "Okay. Patrick, as in, the singer?"

You frowned. "Yeah..."

"Well, it's a pleasure to talk to you, you have a phenomenal voice."

You choked on the breath you'd taken. "Uh...thank you, sir," you stammered, and I batted your knee. You shouldn't call him _sir,_ he doesn't deserve it. You just flicked me in the arm and continued to look slightly weirded out. I began to think this was a bad idea, he's clearly a stalker. Or maybe he did some sneaky googling before he turned up.

"How is he?" he asked, and we all knew he meant me.

"He's been better, I think, he wasn't really expecting you."

"Ah. Indeed. My apologies. Tell him I'm sorry for simply arriving like that, I didn't know how else to go about it. Does he know you called?"

"Yeah, he does. He'd like to meet up, if that's why you left your number."

"Okay," he said, sounding relieved. "Yes, I hoped he'd change his mind. We could go for lunch tomorrow, if you'd like?"

You looked at me, and I shook my head, pointing down at the floor. If we were gonna meet, I wanted it to be on my fucking turf. "Uh, how about you come here?"

"Alright, if that's better for him. What time would you like me?"

"Uh...excuse me one second...." You put your hand over the mic and turned to me.

"Eleven?" I shrugged, not really caring.

You grimaced. "One?"

"Oh come on, eleven o'clock is not that early," I scolded, crossing my arms.

You made a whining sound and pouted at me. "But I'm jet-lagged!"

"There's a two hour time difference!" I huffed, rolling my eyes.

"Still," you sulked, elbowing me. You took your hand away from the mic, "Hello? Okay, how about one o'clock?"

I gasped dramatically and you shot me a proud grin, which widened when he replied, "Yes, that's fine for me."

"Good!" you chirped, "we'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Indeed. Thank you again for calling, Patrick, it'll be a pleasure to meet both of you."

"You too, Mr. Wentz. Bye!"

He responded in kind, then the phone went dead. I scowled at you, and your smile disappeared.

"Made a new friend, have we?" I spat.

"He sounds nice," you shrugged, leaning forward to put your phone on the coffee table and snagging a cookie on the way back.

I made a noise of disgust and looked away from you. "You shouldn't suck up to him, though. What if I don't even want you here tomorrow?" I said, just to be mean.

Your eyebrows shot up, and I could see you realising that you'd sort of just invited yourself to be part of the big emotional father-son reunion. "Oh, I – uh, I'm sorry, I just thought that you'd want, like, me to be there and stuff," you stammered, a blush creeping into your cheeks.

I grinned at your embarrassment, wrapping an arm round your waist and pulling you closer to me. "I'm kidding, of course I want you there. You're my moral support. Also I totally want to show you off."

You frowned mid-cookie. "Am I nothing more than a trophy wife to you?" you sighed, chewing slowly. "I should've stayed in LA."

It was only then I remembered that I'd dragged you the whole way across the country to sort out my mess. "Oh yeah, how did that go?"

"Ugh, selling houses is boring. Got an estate agent, he's gonna handle it for the time being. I cleaned the place up a bit, he says he can sell it pretty quick. I don't know how the hell I'm gonna move out, there's no room in my flat for all of it."

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll think of something," I said, hiding my smile in your cheek as I thought of the house we'd looked at, the fact that you could just move your stuff straight into it, the fact that _oh yeah, I'm gonna ask him to live with me._

"Pete," you said suddenly, shifting to face me. "Listen, whatever happens tomorrow, I just want you to know that this," you gestured between the two of us, "isn't gonna change. I love you, I'm not going anywhere, even if he hates me."

I smiled, watching my fears melt away in your bright eyes. "Thanks. You're amazing."

But you suddenly looked worried. "What if – what if he does hate me?"

I laughed. "He's not gonna, Patrick. If he knows anything about you, which it seems like he does, he's gonna love you."

"But what if-"

"Plus," I interrupted, taking your only cookie-free hand, "I honestly couldn't give a shit what he thinks. About, like, anything. I don't value his opinion, dad or no, he's not my family. Joe and Andy are my family, you're my family, not him. You've been in my life pretty much as long as he was, you've shown me more love and care and kindness than he ever did. You're my everything, Patrick, you're the most important person in my life, and nothing he ever says is gonna change that. If he doesn't like you, he can fuck off out of my life, 'cause you were here first and you take priority over everyone. End of."

You blinked at me, your eyebrows rising and your mouth curving up at the corners. I barely had time to smile back before you put your hands on my cheeks and dived at my lips.

"I love you," you murmured in between breaths, the taste of cookie still on your tongue. It'd been, like, four whole days since I'd kissed you, and when I realised that, I realised how much I'd missed it.

We stayed like that for a while, until you were basically sitting in my lap, your arms draped round my neck and my hands on your hips, kissing slowly and lazily. We only stopped when you were literally nearly falling asleep against my face, exhausted from travelling and all the stress I'd caused you.

I was grateful for that, for you not freaking out. The last thing we needed was both of us running around like headless chickens. Because of you, I wasn't worrying, wasn't spending the night awake and shaking because of some dude who fucked me up twenty years ago.

We spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, pyjama-clad and comfortable beyond belief. I was watching some documentary on weird deep-sea creatures that you'd insisted you were interested in, before promptly falling asleep in my lap during the opening titles.

I didn't really mind, though, it was kinda interesting. Did you know there's this thing called a giant tube worm that can grow to, like, eight feet long and feeds off of toxic volcanic chemicals? I reckon if I were a deep sea creature, I'd wanna be a giant tube worm. You'd be a firefly squid.

Sitting there with you, I pretty much forgot about my dad. I was far more worried about whether your head was comfortable resting on my thighs, whether your neck would be achy in the morning, whether you'd eaten enough today since you'd been on a plane and plane food sucks and I hadn't made us any dinner.

Every so often, you'd wake up a little, your eyes would open and you'd look up and see me and smile, then go back to sleep. I love it when you do that. I also loved that you didn't seem to mind my arm draped over your waist, or my fingers stroking your bit of tummy that spills over the waistband of your pyjamas. There was a time when you loathed anyone even looking at your stomach. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you're happy with yourself. I can't tell you how happy you make me.

Once the programme had finished, I gently shook you awake, turning off the lights and the TV before guiding us both sleepily into my bedroom, where we curled up together under the covers, warm and cosy and dead to the world.

-

If only we'd been that calm the next morning.

It wasn't that I was really freaking out, I was just a bit on-edge. I'd already yelled at you to get up, louder than I normally do, and it felt like you were deliberately eating breakfast extra slowly just to get me more stressed.

"Patrick, can you please move your fucking suitcases out of the way of the damn door?" I'd snapped at you as you wandered out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from your mouth.

"Cghm th fck dghn," you foamed, patting my chest as you walked towards the stairs.

"Stop telling me to be calm! It's not helping!"

"Pght," you said, turning back to me, "lghsten tgh mgh, eghrytghng wghll bgh fghne."

"No it will not be fine! And stop speaking toothpaste," I huffed, eyeing the froth that was making its way down your chin, no doubt intending to stain my carpet.

Tutting at me, and spraying me in the process, you turned on your heel, heading back to the bathroom.

 

"Uh oh," I said worriedly, more to myself than to you, when I heard a car pull up in the drive.

"It'll be fine," you said for the billionth time, emerging from the bathroom and dragging me down the stairs. As soon as we got to the lounge, though, you started pacing.

I huffed at you again, not really stressed, just sorta sulky, ready to put this dude through the Spanish inquisition then kick him out and never see him again.

There was a knock at the door.

I looked at you, and you nodded, smoothing your shirt down and exhaling shortly.

"Don't suck up to him," I warned, folding my arms.

You just gave me an eye-roll and headed towards the door.

"Hi, Mr. Wentz, come in!" I heard you say brightly, and groaned inwardly.

"You must be Patrick, lovely to meet you," a slightly deeper voice replied, and I groaned out loud. So he was playing the polite game too.

"Yes, yeah, you too, come on in. Sorry about the suitcases, someone forgot to move them."

"It's fine, it's a nice place you've got here, I'm glad you kept it. Do you, uh, live together?" I heard you both making your way down the hall and took a deep breath.

"No, no, I'm renting a few blocks away, I'm in the process of moving from LA, which is...uh..." you rounded the corner. And there he was.

He stopped when he saw me. You looked nervously between the two of us, probably wondering whether to introduce us or not.

"Peter," he said quietly, taking a couple of steps forward.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, "that's your name. It's Pete, just Pete."

He nodded, bowing his head a bit. "Yes. Of course, I'm sorry."

He was wearing typical dad clothes, too smart for something like this, shined shoes and hair combed back. He was a few inches taller than me. I could definitely still take him down in a fight, though.

"Uh...tea?" you squeaked, clasping your hands together and desperately trying to break the tension. "Coffee? Hot chocolate?"

He looked like he was about to answer, but he caught sight of my slowly darkening glare and thought better of it.

"No thanks, Patrick," I said, without breaking eye contact with him.

"O – okay, I'll, um...just go and, uh...yeah." You scurried off to the kitchen, probably just to hide behind the counter.

He watched you leave, looking a little scared, then turned back to me.

"So, uh...I'm your father," he said slowly, like he was only just realising it for himself.

Trying to push the Star Wars references out of my mind, I managed to maintain my glower, and nodded. "Yeah, I know. Why are you here?"

"I'm sorry it's so out-of-the-blue, I...thought the time was right."

"What do you want?"

"To...to see you again, and to maybe, uh, get to know you again."

"Right," I snarled. "You really wanted to do that, did you?"

"Yes," he insisted, "it's been so long, and I-"

"It's been twenty years!" I yelled, my hands curling to fists. "Twenty fucking years!"

"I know, I know, and I'm so sorry-"

I took a few steps forward. "You're _sorry?_ You ditched me, you left me to rot, you-"

"We did what we thought was best for you!" he snapped back, straightening his tie a little and stepping closer.

"No you didn't, you never even gave me a damn _reason-"_

"You never let us, Pete! You never gave us room to explain, you never let us visit you, you convinced yourself that we didn't love you at all when we _did,_ Pete, we really did!"

That was something I'd think about a lot, later on, but right at that second, I brushed it off as another pathetic excuse. "If you love me, why are you back here? To ruin my life all over again?"

"No, no, I simply hoped to-"

"To what? To be _part of the family_ again?" I snarled, his face within spitting distance. "Why did you come back? What made you do it? Guilt? Spite? What?!"

He took a breath like he was gonna shout, then blew it away. "Your mother has died."

Whatever flames I was gonna spit fizzled out in my throat.

"What?" I said quietly.

"Last week. I'm sorry."

"You came here to tell me that?"

He nodded. "It's what she would've wanted."

"What?! She wanted you to come fuck my life up again? What do I matter to her? What does she matter to me?" I bellowed, throwing my hands about in harsh movements.

"You meant a great deal to her, Pete, I-"

"No I fucking didn't! That's a damn lie, she never gave a shit about me! What d'you expect me to do, _mourn?_ Over some woman I haven't seen in two decades?"

"Excuse me, young man, don't you dare -"

"No!" I screamed, the rage bubbling up inside me and spilling over, "You're not my dad! Don't talk down to me, don't tell me what to do, you lost that right when you dumped me in care!"

He pointed a finger at me and started to yell back. "We did what we thought was best for you! I'm still your damn father, I still raised you and -"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck -"

"Pete," another voice said softly. I felt a hand twine round my coiled fist and saw you standing next to me, watched you step in front of me and look at me steadily.

"Do _not_ speak to me like that!" he yelled at me again, making you jump and look round. "Listen, you -"

He cut himself off, growling as he glared at us. Then, he grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you out the way, making you yelp and stumble like a wounded animal.

"Listen, Pete," he said, gentler this time. But I'd already snapped.

I lunged at him, catching him by the collar and pushing until I'd pinned him against the wall, anger coursing through me faster than I could think.

" _Don't_ you _dare_ touch him," I hissed, "don't you dare lay a hand on him, don't you _dare."_

" _Stop it!"_ you yelled from behind me, taking hold of my arm and dragging me backwards. I struggled against you, but you caught hold of my other hand and turned me away from him. "Stop, please."

I finally looked at you. You were breathing heavily, distress knitting your brows together, shock still pooled in your eyes.

Slowly, you began to let go of me, studying my face as you did so, and I felt myself start to calm down. I placed a hand on your shoulder where he'd grabbed you, where he'd _hurt_ you, and smoothed down the fabric of your shirt. "I'm fine, Pete," you said softly, "it's okay, I'm fine."

I nodded slowly, looking round at my dad, who was straightening out his jacket. He hadn't come any closer to us.

At that point it would've been easy just to tell him to leave. He probably would've walked out without another word. It also would've been easy to let you deal with everything, let you lead the peace negotiations, make the apologies. But for once, I decided to clean up my own mess.

"Okay," I sighed, pressing my hands into my eyes. "Okay. You came here to talk, so let's talk."

He stared at me for a bit, then swallowed and nodded. "Indeed. Alright."

"Come on, let's sit down. I'm sorry for...that," I said, actually nearly meaning it.

"It's perfectly fine," he replied, even though it probably wasn't. But we were being adults now, rather than stroppy teenagers. "My apologies, Patrick, I wasn't thinking."

You smiled a little, looking quite relieved. "That's okay, Mr. Wentz. Now, anyone for drinks?"

I let him respond this time. "Tea, please, no sugar. Thank you," he added, and you grinned, touching my arm on your way out to let me know that you knew I wanted something sweet and decaffeinated. Hot chocolate, basically.

"Right," I huffed, offering him the arm chair whilst I claimed the sofa. "So, uh...how've you been?"

He snorted a little, it was a weak attempt at conversation, but we had to start somewhere. "I've been fine, thank you. A lot older, but not that much wiser, it would seem. I'm surprised you recognised me."

"You were always old to me," I said, not seeing any need for flattery, "you don't look that much different."

He smiled, though, then looked at me thoughtfully. "I didn't think I'd recognise you. But you've still got your mother's face."

I remembered her. I remembered people telling me I looked like her, and being annoyed at them, because I never saw it. I remembered her eyes being the same colour as mine.

"So...mum's dead?" I mumbled, not knowing how else to bring it up.

He nodded, pursing his lips and bowing his head.

"How?"

He sighed. "She'd been ill for a long time. We knew it was coming. It was almost a relief when it finally happened. She passed in her sleep, she didn't feel any pain."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. He didn't look up, and I didn't ask any more questions, it looked like it'd already hurt him to answer, so I just frowned at the floor.

It was difficult to know what to feel. Nothing about my life would be different, I'd spent years hating her, I hadn't seen her in twenty years, how could I really grieve, even if I felt I ought to? But then, there was still this sense of loss, this sadness I felt but couldn't really explain. Maybe it's just death in general, like when you hear that someone's been murdered on the news and you think _that's awful,_ but then you just go on with your life and forget about it because you didn't know them and however hard you try to empathise, you can't force it to affect you. I decided to shift the subject a little.

"Uh...so, you said that she would've wanted you to do this? Why?"

He leant back in the chair and put his hands on his knees. "Well...look, Pete. Giving you up was one of the hardest things she ever did. She always felt guilty about it, she always wanted to see you."

"Then why didn't she? I mean, I know I didn't let you visit when I was in care, but after that...if you can find me now, why couldn't she have found me then? You must've known where I was living?"

"She knew you hated us. She thought it was better if we kept our distance, she said we'd simply end up making your life worse."

Thinking back to how I was when I was a teenager, she was probably right. If they'd turned up then, I might actually have killed one of them. "Okay. I guess that makes sense."

"Then, I suppose it just got more and more difficult for her to bring herself to try to see you. She stopped your brother from searching, I know that."

That struck a chord. "My brother? George?" I hadn't thought about him in a very long time. "How is he?" He was the one family member I never ended up hating.

"He's alright, given the circumstances. Oh," he exclaimed, pointing at me, "you wouldn't know, he got married, a few years ago now, he and his wife have just had a baby girl, Holly. Your mother swore she wouldn't go until she'd seen her, and she was right, as usual," he laughed, shaking his head.

"Whoa," I sighed, my eyebrows shooting up my head. That little squirt whose hair I used to pull was married with kids.

"I know. I suppose twenty years is a long time."

I snorted. "Yeah. Yeah, it really is."

"So, Pete," he said suddenly, his eyes flicking around the room. "How are you? You seem to be doing well."

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am. I wasn't, for a while, but...things are good," I nodded, letting myself relax a bit.

"You're happy?" he asked, casting a glance towards the kitchen.

I followed his gaze, hearing the faint sounds of you scampering about. "Yeah," I grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"He seems like a lovely lad."

"He is," I felt myself blush a bit, "he's...yeah, he's really lovely."

He lowered his voice a little. "Do you think he might be _the one_?"

I grinned harder, feeling a bubble of happiness in my chest, and nodded.

"Good on you, son," he smiled, and I saw a little hint of something like pride in his eyes. It felt good. _Whoa. My dad's proud of me._

"Tea!" you chirped all of a sudden, appearing with a handful of drinks, and handing them to their respective recipients. "Uh...shall I...?" you pointed towards the stairs and started to back away from us.

"No, no," I said, beckoning you to me, "get over here."

You beamed and flopped down on the sofa, nearly spilling hot chocolate all over yourself in the process, tucking your feet underneath you and waving at us to carry on.

My dad smiled at the two of us, probably not really knowing who to talk to. "So, you two were in a band?"

And with that, we were off.

We told him pretty much everything, how we met, how we started, a little bit about our relationship but not too much 'cause I wasn't quite ready for that yet, some people we met along the way, the records, the shows, the break up, and finally, after a few conferring glances, we told him how we're working on a new record that no-one knows about yet.

He nodded along, laughing in all the right places, that little glint of pride not leaving his face for a second. I wasn't sure how much he knew already, so we just ploughed through the whole lot.

By the time our mugs were empty, and the sandwiches I'd hastily made for lunch had disappeared, I'd asked all the questions I could think of, and seemingly so had he, 'cause we reached a sort of reflective silence.

It was strange, looking at this guy I hardly knew and thinking, _shit, he's my dad. He's that dude I hated for two decades, and here I am, having a pleasant conversation with him. Alright, it didn't start off that pleasant, but still. I have a dad now. Fuck._

"So, uh..." he started awkwardly, shifting in his seat and making both of us look up. "The – the funeral's on Friday."

That caught me unawares. "What?"

"Friday. I'll give you the address, too, it's a nice little place, your grandmother was buried there -"

"No, I mean...you, like, want me to come to the funeral?" I clarified, frowning at him.

"Well, of course, if you don't want to, that's perfectly understandable, but... the offer's there."

"What, so...you want me to come?" I repeated. I really wasn't sure about that. I glanced at you, but you just curled further into the sofa.

"I know it's been a long time, but...I think she would've wanted you there, if she was given the choice. I think we'd all want you there."

"Really? But I'm not with you guys, I don't know you, I'd just feel...I don't know..." I trailed off.

"Left out?" he finished. "Listen, Pete, we're not a big family. It won't be a busy funeral, it'll be friends mostly. If you accept us, we'll accept you. They'd all love to meet you."

My first thought was _no, they wouldn't, and I don't wanna meet them either._ But that was teenage Pete talking. I mean, yeah, it would be weird and awkward and difficult to deal with but, like, I could get a family out of it. I'd always looked at your family, the way they put up with each other no matter what, argued and nagged and pissed each other off, only to laugh about it half an hour later. You loved your family, and they loved you. And I sorta wanted that too.

"O – okay," I stammered, nodding. "I'll go. Yeah, I'll go."

His face split into a wide grin. "Excellent! Thank you, Pete, that means a lot," he said, and looked like he meant it, too. "Patrick is also very welcome, of course."

You smiled shyly, thanking him and looking at me, as if you even had to ask if I wanted you to come.

"Great, okay, so...will I meet George?" I asked, not really knowing which answer I was hoping for.

"Yes, of course, in fact....would you like to come visit? Your brother's travelling from Kentucky, he'll be staying for a few days anyway, you could stay Thursday night, if you'd like? It'll be a full house, but we've enough beds for two more."

"Okay," I agreed, giving him a nervous smile, "yeah, I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. You've been gone twenty years, you're entitled to cause all the trouble you want."

"Thanks, dad," I grinned. It felt good to refer to him like that. My dad. I think he realised it too, because he grinned back. I think I got my grins from him.

We kept on grinning, too, as we managed to find more to talk about, and the sun sank lower, past the lounge windows. I gave him my phone number, he gave me his address, he's only about an hour away, at Crown Point in Indiana. We apologised a few times for nearly killing each other. I think I got my temper from him, too. Despite everything, I kinda liked him. And this time, when we finally said goodbye, I knew it wasn't gonna be forever.

-

"I'm so proud of you, Pete," you said softly, later that night, as we were drifting off to sleep.

And d'you know what, I'm quite proud of me, too.

-

We're headed to my dad's tomorrow. I'm nervous, but in sort of a good way, like before you get on a roller-coaster. Tomorrow, I'll have an actual _family._ Whoa.

I keep thinking about mum, how I should be sad. I know you think I'm sad, think I'm hiding it for your sake, 'cause you'd be devastated if your mum died, but what you don't understand is that I'm just happy she cared about me, in the end. I didn't know her, I never got to. It sounds fucking mental to say it, but I'm sorta glad she died, I mean, I got a dad out of it. I'll never have a relationship like the one you have with your mum, but that's okay, 'cause not having a family was part of the reason I ended up here, with you. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.

Thank you, though. Thanks for not freaking out, thanks for seeing me through all this. I thought it would ruin us, but you made sure it didn't.  You were right, as always. Making amends does feel good. And this weekend, when we're back from dad's, I'm gonna ask you, gonna show you that house.

Maybe one day, we'll have a family of our own. 

Love, Pete xxx


	54. Chapter 54

 

 

Dear Patrick,

It's been a while since I wrote one of these. A fuck load of stuff's happened, I don't even know what to write about first.

So, last time, we got up to the time when I'd just met my dad. I guess I'll just go from there, then.

-

I was terrified.

The last few days had been fine, I'd called Andy and Joe to tell them what happened, told them I was okay with all this, my dad had called to confirm times and directions and stuff, I'd spoken to him like I'd known him all my life. You'd been great, helping me through all my worries, listening to me ramble about my feelings and whatever.

But when we finally pulled into my dad's driveway, all of that seemed to fly out the window.

"If you make me drive the whole way back again, I'm gonna fucking kill you," you'd sighed, when I'd refused to get out the car.

"But...I'm scared," I whined, staring at the door behind which my actual father and my actual brother and my actual sister-in-law _and_ my actual niece were waiting.

"I know, Pete. You're allowed to be scared. But what you're not allowed to do is chicken out, okay?" you said, probably more aggressively than you'd meant.

I made a pathetic whimpering noise at you, and shrunk against the window.

Your gaze softened. "I know you feel like you won't fit in. Of course it's gonna be weird. But it might also be pretty great. You wanna see your brother again, yeah?"

I nodded.

"And you've spoken to your dad already. So what's the worst that could happen? If anything, I'm gonna be the most left out, I'm just the tag-along boyfriend."

"You're _not_ just that, you're way more than that," I frowned at you, wishing there was some kind of intermediate between boyfriend and fiancé. Partner? Hmm. That just sounds like we're gonna be solving crimes together.

"Look, worst comes to worst, I'll text Joe, he can call you with some emergency from home or something, and we'll take off. But it's only one night. You can do this, I know you can." You smiled at me with your eyes, big and blue and hopeful.

I was just about to complain one more time, when the front door I'd been staring at began to open, and my dad appeared, waving at us.

"Too late now," you smirked into my glare as you hopped out of the car.

"Peter!" he called from the door, beckoning us over. I really wished he'd just call me Pete, but he kept forgetting.

I put on my best smile and clambered out of the car, feeling your arm curl around mine as we walked up the driveway, the gravel crunching under our feet.

He shook my hand and clapped me on the back as soon as we were within arm's reach of the door, and looked like he was about to do the same to you, but thought better of it. I think after what happened last time, he was avoiding touching you at all, and I was grateful for that; this was all _his, his_ house, _his_ family, _his_ life. It seemed like you were the only thing that was mine, I sorta wanted everyone to just keep their hands off of you.

"Did you find the place alright? How are you? Was the traffic okay?" he gabbled, leading us into the hall and closing the door behind us. _No escape now._

"Yep, the SatNav never fails," you grinned, "and we're good. How are you?" you said gently, reminding me that _oh yeah, this dude's wife just died._

He gave us a sad smile, and sighed shortly. "Ah, we're surviving, I suppose."

You nodded, slowly trying to unwind your arm from mine, an action I thoroughly disapproved of and was relentlessly fighting against.

He stared at us for a couple seconds more, the silence rapidly falling into the awkward zone, before clapping his hands together and saying "Drinks! I'll get us some drinks," and hurrying off into the kitchen. Looks like freaking out under pressure also runs in the family.

Still clinging tightly to your arm, I actually began to take in my surroundings. It wasn't a huge house, a staircase squished into the narrow hallway, and a little kitchen at the end of it, with a door to what was probably the lounge leading off it. I came to find it sorta cosy, but right now, the picture-frame stuffed, clumsily wallpapered walls seemed like they were closing in on me.

"Deep breaths," you said quietly, squeezing my hand.

I nodded, trying to open my lungs up more and focusing on your steady gaze. You smiled and kissed me lightly on the lips, beginning to toe your shoes off. You so wanted this to go well, and I tried to convince myself that I did, too.

"Pete?" a voice said. A head poked round the door to the lounge.

_Holy fuck. That's my brother._

"George?" I said shakily, feeling my eyes widen.

"Holy fuck, dude!" he exclaimed, stepping into full view and staring at me.

He'd always looked more like my dad than I did, his skin lighter and his eyebrows finer, but now he stood a good four inches taller than me with gangly limbs and broad shoulders, brown hair cut short and a crooked grin on his face.

We both just sorta took each other in for a few seconds, and I thought about offering him a handshake, but before I could even acknowledge the muscles in my hand, he'd rushed forward and engulfed me in a hug, tight enough to rival yours.

I felt you let go of my hand, giving me my cue to hug him back. It wasn't even a weak man-hug either, it was a proper rib-crushing face-squashing hug. _Wow. Twenty damn years._

"So, uh, hi," he said as he finally let go of me, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Hi," I said back, giving in to the smile rising in my throat. "Uh, long time no see, I guess."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the edges and his pointy teeth showing. "Yup, really _really_ long time. And, you're Patrick, right?" he asked, looking at you and shooting you finger guns.

"Yeah, that's me," you nodded, fiddling with your hat, now in your hands.

"You look way different, dude," he grinned, gesturing in the general direction of your face.

You breathed a little laugh, your nervous gaze flitting about the place. "Uh...do I?"

"Nah, dude, good different," he chuckled, but I could see that that was not what you were worried about.

"Uh...but, how...?" you tailed off, staring at him.

"Oh, right, yeah, sorry," he said, gesturing at both of us, "no, I'm not a stalker, I swear, I just know you from your band. You're the dude with the hats, and you're the emo guy," he grinned, jabbing me in the shoulder. "Nah, I'm kidding, you guys are great. So, brother, what's up?"

I blinked at him, trying to keep up with his gabbling but finding it kind of amazing too. "Uh...a lot of stuff, I guess. You?"

"Ah, snap, lots of stuff too," he laughed, "hey, listen, we've got a hell of a lot of catching up to do, let's just sit down and talk about fucking _everything."_ He gestured towards the lounge, and my dad appeared with a tray of what looked like every single drink he could think of.

"Uh, okay," I smiled, bewildered but kinda excited, "yeah, let's do it."

And we did. He sat us both down on one of the big poofy leather couches they have in the lounge, where his wife, Anika, and their kid sat. They looked alike, her and the baby, both with big dark eyes and long eyelashes. She's nice, I like her, even though we were all kinda awkward at first. We did the smiles and the handshakes, then that was about it, we let my brother do most of the talking.

And boy, could he talk. He babbled at us non-stop, telling us about his life, his job, his hobbies. He's a lawyer, like my dad, and although he says he's not that great at it, dad tells me he's a lot more professional once you get him in a court room. He likes hiking, he went on for ages about Red River Gorge and promised he'd take us there one day, a day you're probably dreading already, and cooking too, so we talked for ages about that. _And_ he likes Breaking Bad, and Star Wars, and that's pretty much all I need in a brother. He's honestly hilarious, too, half the time it's not even what he says, it's how he says it. I was almost crying by the time he finally told me it was my turn.

I pretty much told him the same stuff as I'd told dad, all about the band and stuff, but this time, I decided they probably deserved to know about how I'd been, like, mentally, for the past twenty years, 'cause the last time they saw me, I was a child from hell with a temper like the Incredible Hulk. I told them how I met you, it was funny to watch you blush and sink further into the sofa when I told them how much you helped me. My brother thinks you're adorable, by the way.

Everyone went quiet when I brought up mum. I didn't mean to make them sad, I just wanted to know a bit more about who she was. They'd said she cared about me, but I was still struggling to process that after two decades of bitterness.

When I told them that, though, my dad stood up, beckoning for me to do the same.

"I gotta show you something, son," he murmured, leading me out of the lounge and up the stairs.

There were three bedrooms, my parents', one that looked like it was probably my brother's once, and one more, which I assumed was the guest room, until my dad stopped beside the door.

"After we moved here, she always said, if you'd have been with us, this room would be yours."

He pushed the door open, and I peered inside. It took me a moment to process what I was looking at.

It was a bedroom, with a normal bed and normal carpet and curtains and stuff, but the _walls. Oh my god._

Plastered all over them were posters, picture frames, photographs, all seemingly with one thing in common. _Fall Out Boy._

There were vinyl copies of our records carefully framed, photos of us getting awards, with famous people, playing shows, articles cut out of magazines and newspapers. There was even some of the stuff I'd done for Black Cards in the corner by the window, beside a row of CDs, each with _Decaydance_ printed on their edges.

"Oh my god," I said quietly, creeping further into the room, tightness building in my chest.

"I understand it's a poor substitute for a ruined childhood, but we – we never forgot about you," my dad mumbled, placing at hand lightly on my shoulder as I stared around.

So this is how they knew about you, about the band, they'd kept up with everything, they'd got as close as they could to me without making contact. "I just – I, uh..." I trailed off, feeling a lot of stuff at once and unable to find words to express all of it.

"She was so proud of you, Pete. We – we all are."

"Yeah," another voice said. Looking round, I saw my brother leaning against the door frame, arms folded and smiling. "We're the biggest Pete Wentz fans out there."

I managed to smile back, but that was all my brain could muster before everything got a bit too much. Heat pooled behind my eyes, and the room went blurry. As I blinked, the tears fell, the tightness rising from my chest to my throat, leaving behind a warm feeling that might've been something like happiness. 

"Hey, come here," dad said gently, putting his arms around me in an awkward hug. I still hugged back, though.

Before I knew it, George had bounded over to us and joined in, squishing us all together with his weird long arms.

"Aww, we're so cute," he cooed, and I smiled through the tears.

-

By the time I'd wiped my eyes and followed the two of them back downstairs, everything seemed easier. I could look at my dad without seeing the jerk who put me in care, think about my mum knowing she'd been proud of me. Twenty years, and they never forgot. 

Walking back into the lounge, the first thing I saw was you, sitting on the sofa, talking to Anika, cradling baby Holly in your arms. I immediately sat next you, getting as close as possible without creeping the others out, nestling against your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" you asked softly, scanning my face and frowning.

I cursed my puffy eyes, but nodded anyway. "Yeah. I'm – I'm good." I wasn't lying, either. I was pretty much ready to drag you upstairs and show you the room and start crying all over again.

But your attention was mostly directed at baby Holly. She was wriggling about in your arms, looking up at you with a tiny smile on her face. Her little hands waved in the air, one curling into the fabric of your shirt, the other determined to reach your nose. You ducked your head and let her fingers touch your face, poking your lips and your cheeks until finally claiming your nose and making a gurgly sound. Giggling, you blew a raspberry at her, twitching your nose as she held onto it. The smile on your face was one of utter adoration.

"Can we keep her?" you asked, turning to me with puppy-dog eyes.

"Please, take her, I could do with the sleep," Anika said, promptly followed by a loud guffaw from George across the room.

I laughed too, but all I could think about was _oh my god,_ _I want a baby._ I know it's different for us, I know it'll be more difficult and take longer and involve more paperwork, but it'll be worth it just to see you smile like that again.

-

The rest of the afternoon went pretty well, I think, we just talked more and went on a tour of the house and your face when you saw the spare room was amazing – flattered and happy for me, but mildly horrified that you were in most of the photographs, too.

We didn't sleep in that room, though, there was only a single bed, and it'd be a bit weird to be watched by hundreds of little Fall Out Boys. We slept on the sofa bed instead, which was cramped but cosy, after you'd whisper-yelled at me for packing lube because you absolutely refused to let me fuck you in my parents' house with a baby upstairs. Shame.

Anyway, it turns out that my family are in fact morning people, and my dad came downstairs bright and early the next day to offer us coffee. It was hilarious to watch you try your utmost to stay polite while you were barely conscious and sleep-deprived. You ended up asleep on my shoulder on the way to the church.

The funeral was _sad._ I know it sounds obvious to say, but, I dunno, the flowers and the speeches and atmosphere was enough to bring me to tears all by itself. I think even you cried a little bit at one point. I was fine right up until the eulogy, when my dad got up to say a few words, and that's when everything started to get to me. _My mother is dead. I'm never gonna see her again. I'm never gonna get to meet her and show her how much better I am, I'm never gonna get to thank her._ It was the first time I'd really realised that.

My dad and my brother were in pieces. A lot of people were, it seemed like she had a lot of close friends. I think that's what they thought we were, at first, but my dad introduced us to pretty much everyone, and suddenly I was swarmed by people shaking hands and giving me hugs. I met my aunt, too, who I vaguely remembered, and my grandpa, who asked me a hell of a lot of questions about being gay, before dragging you off into the corner and quizzing you about god knows what. You looked exhausted when you finally returned, but I got a thumbs-up from him, so I guess you got the seal of approval.

We ended up staying another night at dad's, and it didn't even seem like he was just asking out of politeness, either, it actually seemed like he wanted us to stay. Everything felt a bit different after the funeral, a bit more subdued, but somehow it felt like we needed each other's company more. We didn't talk much, just piled into the lounge and watched some crappy sci-fi film on TV, you curled up close to me, and George to Anika, a fast-asleep baby Holly cradled by my even faster-asleep father.

It was nice, actually. I found myself thinking, _yeah, maybe I could get used to this whole family thing._

_-_

The only issue with staying the night, though, was the fact that I'd forgotten I had a viewing of that house scheduled for Saturday afternoon, so I had to politely tell you to hurry the fuck up without telling you why I was so eager to leave.

After saying our thank yous and goodbyes and exchanging phone numbers with my brother and a lot of hugging too, we finally got out the door, the whole lot of them waving from the porch as we pulled out of the drive, like we were in some corny movie.

I spent most of the journey home just absorbing everything, thinking about everyone I'd met and how much stuff was gonna be different after this. Also, the fact that this hadn't all gone horribly wrong. I think there was a part of me, up 'til then, that'd been convinced it would all fall to pieces somewhere along the line, and everything would go back to how it was before, with me normal and family-less. It's only now that I realise how much I've missed out on over the last twenty years.

"So... how're you feeling?" you said gently after forty five minutes of tuning and re-tuning the radio whilst I was stuck in my thoughtful state.

"Uh...good, I think. It went well, didn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you did really well, they all really liked you," you grinned, glancing at me.

"I liked them, too," I pondered, "it's weird, I can't believe it all went so well."

You laughed a little. "You gotta stop expecting things to go badly."

"I know," I sighed, staring out the window. Up ahead, there was the turning that would lead to the house. _Our_ house, maybe. I could wait for you to drop me off, then go see the place by myself, just to make sure it was right. Or. I could take you there right now.

"Take this next right," I said suddenly, pointing at the turning.

"Uh..why?"

"Because, I, uh...I gotta show you something."

"Show me what?"

"You'll see," I smirked, and you frowned.

"See what? Come on, Pete, just tell me," you whined, but turned right all the same.

"No, just wait, okay?"

You huffed at me, pulling your _I hate surprises_ face, which is always just an act, but following my directions as we wound through the suburbs and, finally, pulled up in front of the house.

"So...what're we doing here?" you asked me as we got out of the car.

"Oh, it's just this house I was looking at, you know how I'm thinking of moving?"

"Oh, right, okay. It's nice," you nodded, looking up at the big windows and the neat little lawn and the flowers spewing from the window sills. "Really nice."

There was no annoying estate agent today, the lady who owned the house let us in, I think her family were out. It was emptier than the last time I'd seen it, and there were a few boxes here and there, it looked like they were pretty much moved out.

-

"Right, so that's the downstairs," she nodded, after she'd shown us around the kitchen and lounge and stuff. The permanent look of amazement on your face sent this little wave of happiness over me. "I can show you the upstairs, too, if you'd like? Or would you rather take yourselves round?"

"Uh, I reckon we're okay from here. We won't be long."

"No, no, take all the time you need. I'll be down here if you need me," she smiled, before wandering off into the lounge.

-

"So, what d'you think?" I asked, as we reached the master bedroom.

You shook your head slowly. "This place is awesome. Oh my god, look at this bedroom, it's huge!" you exclaimed, scampering across it, "and there's a balcony, what the hell, you have to live here!"

"You like it, then?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, how did you even find this?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, just looked around some websites." _And spent fourteen hours straight calculating distances and budgets and getting every detail absolutely perfect whilst driving myself and Andy absolutely insane._

You scowled at me. "Ugh, this is so annoying. Why d'you find this before I did, I need a house more than you do!"

"Well, I guess you'll just have to find somewhere else," I sighed, trying to hide my smile.

"Aw, but this is so perfect! It's got one of those big kitchen-lounge things, and, and a breakfast island thing, and have you seen the garden? It's so cute. And the bathrooms are huge. _And_ there's a basement, too."

"I know, wouldn't it make a great studio?" I pondered, wandering over to you.

You groaned. "Yes, yes it would. Oh, and it's in such a great place too, literally everything is near here, but it's still really peaceful. The lake must be somewhere around here too, right?"

"Yup, it's a few miles from here."

"Oh for fuck's sake. This isn't fair."

I laughed. "So, if it was you, you'd wanna buy this place?"

You leant against the open sliding window which led to the balcony, staring at the sky. "Are you kidding? This is perfect."

_Okay. Fuck it, I'm gonna ask him._

I stood a few metres away from you, wringing my hands together. "But, uh...don't you think it's a bit big for just one person?"

You shrugged. "Well, maybe, I guess, but -" you caught sight of the look on my face, and I saw you swallow quickly. "But...uh, I...um...what?"

It was my turn to shrug. "How about it?"

You blinked at me. "What, so...?"

I nodded.

You chewed on your lips, looking at me steadily. "Let me get this straight. You...want me to live here. In...in this house. With...with you."

I froze. You were looking at me like I was crazy. _Oh, shit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._ "No, no, okay, you're right, it's too soon, I'm sorry, I just thought, I dunno, I mean, we basically live together already, but it's too big a leap, that's fine, I didn't wanna put any pressure on you or anything, I'm sorry, I-"

"Okay," you interrupted, and I looked up at you.

"What?"

"Okay," you said again, and there was a massive grin on your face.

My heart did a little flip. "So...is – is that a yes?"

You smiled wider. "Yes. Oh my god, yes."

"Holy shit," I breathed, a tingly feeling in my chest, and you giggled.

I barely had time to smile before you'd leapt at me, throwing your arms round my neck and squeezing me tight as I reeled backwards. Laughing against your cheek, I slid my hands down to your thighs and lifted you off the ground, letting you wrap your legs round my waist and hug me tighter.

I could feel your giggles through your chest, hear them bouncing off the walls, I could feel the smile on your lips as you pulled back and kissed me. Closing my eyes, I realised yet again how utterly gorgeous you are.

Unfortunately, though, I got so caught up in the moment that I didn't see the bed behind me until I was falling back onto it, causing you to quickly drop your legs from me and hang onto my neck for dear life.

We ended up a pile of laughing limbs, your nose jabbing me in the eye but my hands still happily resting on your butt. You pecked me lightly on the cheek before shifting off me, pressing your face into my shoulder and sighing slowly.

"We're gonna live together," you said quietly, taking my hand and threading my fingers with your own.

"Yeah," I grinned, snaking my other hand underneath you and holding you close. "I wanna wake up to you every single day."

You giggled, kissing me quickly. "Love you," you mumbled against my mouth, your lips brushing mine in the most tantalising way. It would've been against my morals not to claim them, so I turned to face you properly, untangling our hands so I could cup your face. We kissed deeply and slowly, gradually moving nearer to one another until our chests were as close as our lips would allow.

"So, d'you wanna go buy a house?" I asked, when we'd finally broken apart.

You did that adorable thing where you jiggle your feet around and press your knuckles to your cheeks, nodding furiously.

"Shall we stop making out on a stranger's bed, then?" I laughed, curling an arm around your shoulders and hauling us both into a sitting position.

"Yeah, probably," you sighed, then placed a kiss on my neck. "But when we get home...oh boy."

I smirked, giving your hips a squeeze, and then we were kissing all over again, fingers grabbing at each other's hair and clawing at each other's clothes.

"Whoa, okay," you panted, pulling back. "Home. Now."

Giving you an apologetic grin, I scooped you up in a hug, breathing into your shirt and cuddling you tight. And as we sat there, thoughtfully, the laughs bubbling in our throats, I remember thinking that this might be one of the happiest moments of my life.

-

We fucked twice that night, at your place this time. It's strange, there seems to be two very different species of sex that've emerged since we've been together; there's the first kind, which can happen at all hours of the day and in nearly any location. It's the type of thing where we just sorta jump on each other and it turns into a who-can-get-the-other's-clothes-off-first competition, then it's loud and sweaty and sometimes involves some imaginative position that one of us thinks would be fun. It's also usually the type which leads to the most injuries, the worst being that one time I fell off the kitchen counter and smacked my head on the table. Explaining that one to the doctor was fun.

But then there's the other kind. It doesn't happen terribly often, but I guess if it did, it wouldn't be so special. So far, it's always happened at night, in bed, and we start kissing and touching, and, I dunno, it just seems different. To use a phrase coined by awkward sex education teachers, it really feels like we're making love. It's the type where we savour each other, get as close as possible to each other, slow and deliberate and meaningful, our mouths moving in time with our hips, breaths filled with _I love you_ s. It's during those times that I find myself thinking, _it's him. It's only ever gonna be him._

We did both types that night. The next day, we made an offer on the house, and it was accepted.

-

The next few weeks after that were spent in moving-house mode, which is not the best mode to be in. We both had houses to sell, and that's stressful enough by itself, but then there's all the paperwork and the delays and even when you've sold your house and you've got another one to move into, you've still gotta actually move.

Packing was boring as hell. After the novelty of being able to fit you inside the packing boxes wore off, it was just endlessly dull. Well, okay, so it was dull for you, but actually I kinda liked the fact that everything I owned had to be ordered into different categories and labelled and packed up neatly, it was very satisfying. When I told you that, you gave me this look of utter despair, like you couldn't believe you'd agreed to live with me permanently.

There was no getting out of it for you, though, and three months later, here we are, living in the same house.

It's amazing. There's still a couple boxes we gotta unpack, but other than that, we're set. We share a home phone number now, and we got to send out those little moving house cards to everyone we knew. You didn't want to 'cause you didn't wanna be the annoying new lovey-dovey couple, but I ignored your protests 'cause I _definitely_ wanted to be the annoying new lovey-dovey couple.

Don't get me wrong, it's not all perfect, I mean, we annoy each other no end, you buy endless amounts of music tech stuff and try to sneak it into the basement without me noticing, you literally never cook, you're so messy oh my _god_ it's ridiculous, and you never put stuff in the right recycling bin. But, then, you always put this fabric softener in with the washing so everything smells amazing and my clothes have never been so comfy. And you make me hot chocolates whenever I need them. And sometimes I'll come home from wherever and find that you've cleaned the whole place just to make me happy.

I think the main thing is that you're never far away, no matter where either of us are, we're always gonna come home to each other at some point. I just love being around you, I guess. Nothing's mine or yours, it's all _ours,_ it's like the threads of both our lives are getting twined together tighter and tighter, until you can't separate them anymore.

-

I'm sitting in the lounge right now, in _our_ lounge, in _our_ beautiful new house, in the big squishy armchair we bought specially for the cosy sofa area. You're crashed out on the couch opposite me, you dozed off a while ago now, after claiming you were 'too full to be awake'.

It's Christmas day. It's been probably the most stressful Christmas of my life, but it's also been one of the best. We decided, for some reason, that it would be a good idea to have Christmas at our place, thinking  _it's fine, not_ everyone _will say yes, surely._ We were wrong. Your mum, dad, aunt, uncle, two of your cousins _and_ your grandma came, plus my dad and George and Anika and Holly. It's been chaos.

We had to buy so much food, I've never cooked for twelve and a quarter people before, and at first it was all stress and expectations and _oh crap we don't have enough crackers_ or _there's only one other sleeping bag_ or _shit we've gotta buy alcohol and neither of us know what's nice anymore._

But it was so worth it. Holly pretty much stole the show, she's started to giggle now and we all took turns trying to make her laugh. Our parents are getting on pretty well, which was a relief for both of us, and your aunt and my brother hit it off straight away, probably because they can both talk non-stop about anything. I can hear them nattering away in the kitchen. The game of Trivial Pursuit we played nearly ended in your grandma hurling some kind of inanimate object at my dad, but once she'd got a couple glasses of sherry down her, she lightened up considerably. She's asleep too, on the other sofa. I think dinner nearly finished us all off.

Most of us are watching Titanic at the moment, because what else do you watch on Christmas day, and I now fully understand the awkwardness of watching nude scenes with relatives around. There's quite a lot of stuff about families that I think I understand better.

Also, I've been thinking. Well, I guess my brother got me thinking.

-

It was yesterday, when most people were here already, and you were catching up with your cousins in the kitchen. I was hopping around the place, putting little bowls of sweets and chocolates around the place like the Christmas elf I am, and my brother was following me around taste-testing everything.

"Dude, what are these?" he asked, picking up a bowl of little chocolate pieces.

"Oh, it's Oreo chocolate. You know, like, chocolate with Oreos in," I shrugged.

"That's so awesome," he grinned. He gets excited about literally everything, it's hilarious. "You rockstars and your cool food."

"Yeah, you wait 'til tomorrow, I've got sprouts and everything," I grinned back, waving a finger at him.

"I can't wait to see your sprouts, dude."

I made a face at him. "Hey, no rude jokes around family, Patrick'll kill you. He may be small but he could take you down," I warned.

"Whoa, okay. Defensive boyfriend, I get it. Hey, how's the whole moving in thing going? You kicked each other out yet?"

"Nah," I laughed, "we had a couple big rows, but that was just 'cause he forgot to put the bins out," I finished, perching on the arm of the sofa and placing the last of the bowls on the coffee table.

"Cool," he nodded. "D'you think you're gonna marry him, then?"

I nearly fell off the couch. "What?"

He shrugged. "Well, isn't it legal in a few places now? I reckon it'll be legal here by next year. You could always go to Canada," he pondered.

"Uh...well, I, like, uh," I stammered, kinda caught off-guard, "I dunno, I mean...I don't know."

"Oh, so you're not ready yet? That's cool, man, don't worry about it."

"No, no, I mean, I do want to, at, at some point, I...I want to," I frowned to myself, suddenly wondering, _hey, do I wanna marry him?_ I frowned even harder when the answer was a resounding _yes._

"Fair enough if it's too soon, but, for me, with Anika, I just kinda knew, y'know? I guess you just get to the point where you can't even imagine being with anyone else." The gold band on his finger was suddenly all I could see.

I blinked at him, my head swimming. _Holy shit. Can I imagine being with anyone else?_ Twelve years of evidence says _no._

He laughed at the blank expression on my face, clapping me on the shoulder. "Food for thought," he shrugged, then grabbed a handful of Oreo chocolate and walked off.

-

My thoughts are chewing over that food right now. 'Cause, like, we haven't even been together for a year yet, so it would be crazy soon. But, then, if you added up all the time we've been together in our whole lives, then it would be like four or five years. Plus, we spent so much time together on tours and stuff, that's probably another year's worth. And I was in love with you for eight years, nine if you count this one.

But maybe time doesn't even matter. Maybe what matters is the fact that I can see you across the room, your glasses falling off your face and your mouth slightly open, no doubt drooling all over the cushions, and you're the most fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen. Maybe what matters is the fact that you make me happier than I ever dreamed I'd be.

I gotta wrap this up now. Jack's just floated off into the depths and your aunt's in tears, and I don't think I can pull off my _I'm writing out charades_ excuse without actually writing out charades. I've been scribbling relentlessly for way too long now.

So that's what's been happening over the last few months. I kinda can't believe how much my life has changed, and how okay with that I am. I also can't believe that I'm considering proposing to you in the new year. I'm okay with that, too.

I wanna marry you, Patrick.

Love, as always, Pete. xxx


	55. Chapter 55

  
  
  
  
Dear Patrick,

I shouldn't have let you put the pillow away.

-

It happened just after new year. Our families had all gone home, and we finally had the house to ourselves again. There'd been a lot of trips to the studio, getting stuff done for the record, 'cause we decided it'd be a good idea to announce the whole reunion thing to anyone that still cares sometime next month.

Anyway, productivity was in the air, and I decided to take advantage of your heightened mental activity to get you to actually finish moving in. You'd done pretty well, most of your stuff was out of boxes and it nearly looked like we hadn't just arrived here. But there was one box left. Just one. I think you deliberately left it there just to annoy me.

It was in the bedroom, next to your side of the bed. It wasn't in the way of anything. It just sat there, looking at me, saying _oh, aren't I untidy? Don't I just completely ruin the look of your lovely tidy house?_ It was so fucking irritating.

"Patrick, can you please, _please,_ unpack that box?" I whined at you for the thousandth time, hoping maybe, just maybe you might listen to me this once.

"I will, honestly," you'd replied innocently as we'd arrived back from the studio, but when you took your shoes off, you showed no sign of heading upstairs.

"You always say that," I sulked, folding my arms and following you into the lounge.

"Yeah, and you always say you'll take my opinions into account," you scathed, sticking out your jaw.

I groaned. _Not this again._ "Listen, we had a vote, and you lost. It's democracy, okay?"

"I don't care about democracy, I care about -"

"Getting your own way," I finished. "And that's how dictatorships happen."

"Oh fuck off," you snapped, hurling yourself into the armchair.

Sighing, I leant against the sofa, watching you deliberately avoid my gaze. "I just don't understand why you hate it so much."

You pressed your thumbs into your eyes. "It's not that. It's just...I thought you guys liked The Phoenix."

"We do like it, of course we like it, it wouldn't be going on the record if we didn't," I said, letting out an exasperated laugh.

"Then why can't that one be the single?!" you pouted, pulling your annoying toddler face.

So I pulled my annoying parent face. "Because we _had a vote,_ Patrick, and everybody wants My Songs!"

"Ugh," you huffed, slumping in the chair. "You're wrong."

I smiled, watching you trying to think of some other argument, but decided to take pity on you. "Listen, we can have that one as the next single."

You sat up a little, narrowing your eyes. "You promise?"

 _This is getting ridiculous. "_ Well I can't guarantee it, obviously! But, like, I'll fight your corner, I promise."

Crossing your arms, you shifted to the edge of the chair. "I want it first on the album, too."

"Oh for fuck's sake! You can't make all these decisions!" I exclaimed, running my fingers through my hair.

You shook your head. "No, I want it first."

"I don't care! That's a choice for the whole band, Patrick."

"The Phoenix goes first on the album, or I will fight you on My Songs until the day you die," you said delicately, raising an eyebrow at me and leaning back in your chair.

Wondering how the hell you'd managed to end up with the control, I puffed a breath through my nose. "Look, I'll see what I can do about getting Phoenix as the second single, if we even have one, but we haven't even finalised which songs are gonna be on the record yet, we shouldn't even think about openers."

You just shook your head again.

"For fuck's sake, a single for a single, that's a fair trade!"

Shifting in the chair, you threw your legs over one of the arms, and tilted your head back over the other, closing your eyes. "Okay. What about this, then -"

"No, Patrick, I'm done talking."

"- make Phoenix the opening track, and I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

That got my attention.

You hadn't moved from the chair, your eyes still closed and your hands resting behind your head. The part of my brain usually responsible for ripping your clothes off gave me the side-eye. _Great. He just had to pull the sex card, didn't he._

"Whatever I want," I said slowly, and I saw you smile the tiniest bit.

"Whatever you want," you clarified, stretching your feet out and flexing your toes.

I tried my best to play your game. "Just once, or more than that?"

"Make it good, and it might become a regular thing," you purred, and I became suddenly aware of your legs, the curves of your calves and the thickness of your thighs.

My mind ran away with itself; all my dirtiest fantasies coming to life before my eyes, all the things I could do to you, I could make you fuck me in a public place, I could make you stay naked all day and suck me off whenever I felt like it, hell, I could dress you up in slutty lingerie and make you strip for me.

But there was one thing that sprung to mind.

"Can I tie you up?"

Your eyes slid open and you bit your lip. "If you'd like."

My heart did this little excited flip, sending a tingling feeling straight into my pants. _Holy shit he said yes._ I started towards you, wanting to touch you already, almost drooling at the thought of what you were gonna let me do.

But you held up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Phoenix is second single and opening track."

 _Oh, yeah._ I'd forgotten about that. I tore my gaze from you and tried to think reasonably. I don't dictate the singles, all of us do. I don't dictate the tracklistings, either. But, then, if I argued for you, the other two would probably back down, and we could get our way. I mean, it'd make a good opener, no doubt about that. I winced at the thought of just giving in to you like that, though, I was completely wrapped around your finger, and the reasonable part of my brain was screaming at me to do _something,_ other than just gawk at you.

"No," I said as firmly as I could, crossing my arms, expecting you to explode on me.

But you just laughed softly, closing your eyes again and slipping your tongue over your lips. "Okay then. You don't get to tie me up."

"Okay then," I nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my pants. _Why? Why the hell did I say no to that?! It's just a song, for god's sake, let him have his way, he's probably right anyway!_

"Your call," you shrugged, "although, it is a shame. I was rather looking forward to you binding me and fucking me unconscious. You'd have had complete power over me, all I'd have been able to do is writhe underneath you as you touched me, spread and naked and only yours, your very own helpless whore-"

"Fine!" I pretty much shrieked at you, my head spinning with your words. "Fine, you win! Phoenix can go first, and it'll be the next single, whatever you want, just _please_ let me fuck you right now!"

Despite my weakened knees, I managed to stumble towards you, hearing you yelp in surprise as I slid my hands underneath you and picked you up.

"Thank you," you grinned up at me, looping your arms around my neck and blinking angelically.

I scowled. "You play a cruel game, Stump."

You just giggled, nestling your face into my chest as I nearly ran towards the staircase, hopping up the stairs as fast as I could without jostling you around too much.

The bedroom seemed to take far too long to get to, but when we were finally there, I pretty much threw you down on the bed and smashed my lips against yours, one hand clutching the back of your head, the other scrabbling at the hem of your t-shirt.

"Off. Take it off," I mumbled against your mouth, before dragging myself away from you and leaping towards the wardrobe to find something to tie you up with.

The best I could do was an actual tie; I couldn't find any rope or anything so it would have to do. I made a mental note to stock up for next time.

By the time I'd got back to the bed, you were shirtless and looking expectant.

"So, uh, how do you wanna do this?" I asked uncertainly, twining the tie between my fingers. "Like, on your knees, or your back, or your front...?"

You shrugged. "You tell me, you're the boss."

A shiver ran through me when I saw the spark in your eyes, and I tried desperately to think straight. It was like trying to pick the best song off your favourite record, I just couldn't decide.

"Your front," I said finally, and you obliged, flopping backwards onto the pillows and rolling over.

Sitting on the backs of your thighs, I picked up your arms, pressing your wrists together behind your back and wrapping the tie around them, tight as I dared, knotting it roughly and dropping your hands so they rested on your lower back.

Lifting your hips a little, I ran my fingers down your sides and hooked them into your jeans, feeling you shiver, seeing the muscles in your back tense.

Agonisingly slowly, I teased your jeans and underwear down a little, exposing the curve of your ass and feeling my own jeans tighten at the sight.

"Hurry up," I heard you whine, your voice muffled by the pillows.

"Nope," I smirked, wanting to get my revenge for your little seductive stunt. "I'm the boss, remember?"

You huffed slightly, then let out a moan as I leant down and licked at the base of your spine, your hips jerking forward into the mattress, searching for friction.

I let go of you quickly. "No, you can't do that. No getting yourself off unless I say so, it's against the rules."

"What rules?" you spat indignantly, turning your head to glare at me.

"My rules. And they specifically state that if you do that, I'm at perfect liberty to just tie you to the bed and leave you here, begging for it," I smiled, feeling like I was getting the hang of this.

You scowled, but I saw the giggles behind your eyes, the amusement at how into this we were both getting. "Fair enough. Oh, hey, you can spank me too if you want," you chirped, breaking character and pondering the thought.

I screwed my face up. "Really? You'd want that?"

"I don't know, maybe."

Looking down at your body beneath me, I thought for a second. We'd done a lot of stuff, like, sex-wise, but we'd never done this. I'd always liked the idea of tying you up, but beyond that, I wasn't sure. The whole punishment thing was something I'd only really done with Mikey, never with you. I guess I never really saw us as that type of couple.

I stroked a hand across your hips, trailing my fingers along your spine and resting them lightly on your butt, wondering what it would be like to slap it, see it wobble, leave a red mark, leave a bruise. And suddenly, I felt this twist of utter revulsion inside me.

I couldn't. Even in a completely different context, I just couldn't. The thought of my hands leaving marks on you again made me want to throw up.

"I don't think I want to do that," I said quietly, watching the gentle flex of your muscles as you breathed.

You twisted your neck to look at me, and I could see the understanding in your eyes. "Okay," you said softly, giving me a sad smile.

"I love you," I murmured, leaning down again and placing a kiss on your back, floating my hands underneath you and grazing your stomach.

"I love you too," you replied, "but could you please get on with it?"

I laughed, suddenly remembering that your hands were bound behind your back and I was supposed to be living my fantasy by now.

My arousal came rushing back, and I ducked my head down to brush my lips further and further down the bumps of your spine, occasionally flicking my teeth into your skin and feeling you tense up.

I was determined to make you scream without being touched at all, so I pulled your jeans down to your knees and ghosted my fingers across the insides of your thighs. It was such a small thing, but it made you moan into the pillows, your wrists straining against the knots.

Everything had to be done slowly, I decided, that was the best way to savour this. I sat back and waited for a few seconds, wanting to torture you to the point of begging.

But in doing this, I made the fatal mistake of flicking my gaze around the room. And, out the corner of my eye, I saw that box. That stupid fucking box. That you still hadn't unpacked.

I told myself it didn't matter. I could nag you about it later. I pressed my lips to your butt, my hand cupping the other cheek, massaging it with my fingers. The box was still there, though.

_Look at it. All smug and boxy. Ugh. I could make him unpack it, this is the one time I could make him tidy something. If he's willing to give up his body just to get his song on the record, surely he'd be willing to unpack one box?_

"The fuck are you doing?" you asked, and I realised I'd been using your butt as a pillow, we were literally cheek to cheek and my hand was still settled at the top of your thigh.

"Uh...sorry," I mumbled, sitting up, so wanting to just fuck you into oblivion but at the same time, wanting this to be perfect, without distractions like stupid boxes.

"Is there something wrong with my ass?" you asked, laughing a little.

"No, no, your ass is perfect, it's just... Patrick, can you please unpack that box?"

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No, that box, over there, the one that's been here for four months."

You looked round at me, then at the box, then at me again, incredulous. " _Now?!"_

I groaned, my crotch repeatedly screaming _what are you doing?! What the fuck are you doing?!,_ and climbed off you, meeting your mildly horrified gaze, half your face buried in the pillows.

"Pete? If you want me to beg, I'll beg, please, _please_ fuck me oh my _god,_ please," you said, desperation in your voice.

Sighing, I started to rub slow circles on your hip, every muscle in my body wanting to just jump on you and forget about the box, but I couldn't, it's like when you become aware of your blinking, and suddenly it's all you can think about. And if you were gonna let me fuck you like this, I didn't want any distractions.

"I'm sorry, Patrick, I just...it's just so annoying, and I can't stop thinking about it, and I really wanna make this amazing but I can't if it's there and you said if it was good you might let me do it again and you have no idea how much I want this to be a regular thing and I swear to god, if you'd just unpack the box, we'll do it properly after, I'm gonna make you feel so good, I promise, just can we please get rid of the box before we do this?" I babbled, arousal starting to realise I was a lost cause.

You were staring at me like I'd just been speaking Latin, your fingers twitching where they'd been tied, your eyebrows raised a little bit. Then you burst out laughing.

"You're such a fucking idiot, I really hate you," you giggled, promptly flopping to the side and attempting to shake your head at me. "It seriously bothers you _that much?_ "

I nodded. "Sorry."

"Jesus Christ. Is it like your symmetry obsession?"

"Lots of people have that, it's not just me!" I protested, waving my arms at you.

You huffed into the pillow. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or I'd have kicked your ass for fucking stopping. Will you at least jack me off?"

"No, no, let's wait, then it'll be better after."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Please? You did say I could do anything," I reasoned.

You mumbled something at me that definitely contained the word _dickhead,_ but sighed a _fine_ eventually.

"Love you," I beamed, hopping off the bed towards the box, willing the bulge in my pants to go away, and looking back at you expectantly, raising my eyebrows.

"Well are you gonna fucking untie me?!" you snapped, wriggling about on the bed.

 _Oops._ "Oh yeah," I grinned, and sat back down on the bed beside you, reaching for your wrists.

Wishing I hadn't tied the knots quite so well, I wrestled with them, finally getting my fingers under one of the loops and pulling until I could unwrap the tie, watching your shoulders relax.

Unwinding the final loop, I tossed the makeshift rope to the side, and heard you breathe out, sitting up and stretching your arms. The tie had left red marks ringed around your wrists, and I immediately grabbed them, massaging the skin and cursing myself for binding you so tight.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, trying to get rid of the marks and failing.

Your gaze flicked from my fingers on your wrists to my face, and you laughed slightly. "It's okay, Pete, I'm not made of glass."

I pressed a kiss to each of your hands, then gave them back to you, letting you pull your pants back up and shove your t-shirt back over your head.

"Okay, let's unpack this fucking box," you sighed, rolling your eyes at me and sliding off the bed, looking at the box with narrowed eyes. "You deprived me of sex," you growled at it, picking at the brown tape on the top.

It was no match for us, though. The box turned out to contain a load of weird ornaments you had no idea what to do with, my electric razor which I thought I'd lost when we moved and had to replace, a single pillow, and a Christmas wreath.

"Patrick, why is there no discernible order to your packing?" I'd asked, as you took the easy option of the pillow and left me trying to stop pine needles getting all over the floor.

"I like to keep things interesting," you shrugged, rummaging through the wardrobe.

"But wouldn't it have been easier to put all the Christmas stuff together? That way we wouldn't've had to buy another wreath."

"Sometimes, we must choose between what is right, and what is easy," you said in a deep voice.

"Don't quote Albus Dumbledore at me," I tutted, "plus, in this case, tidiness is easy _and_ right."

"So is sex, and you didn't wanna do that earlier. Where the fuck do the pillows go?"

"Top left. And I did wanna do that, I just wanted it to be perfect."

"Where does perfection fall between right and easy, then? Are you sure, I can only see a duvet up here?"

The wreath chose this moment to fall out of my hands, sending needles everywhere and sending me scrabbling to pick them up. "I don't know, ask Dumbledore. He knows best. The pillows are underneath the duvet."

"Nah, Dumbledore was kind of an asshole. Ask McGonagall, she's more reliable. I swear to god the pillows are not here. Maybe they're behind the duvet..."

I screwed my face up at you. "Dumbledore was _not_ an asshole. He did the right thing for everyone. Careful with the duvet."

As if on cue, the duvet fell from where it was wedged and flopped on top of you. I heard a muffled _fuck,_ and you wrestled with it, shoving it off you as I pretty much died of laughter.

"I told you so."

"Fuck off," you snapped, craning your neck to peer at the shelf. "What the hell is that thing at the back?"

I shrugged and resumed my pine-needle pile, placing each one directly on top of another until the pile got too tall and they all toppled over.

"Dumbledore _was_ an asshole. Hagrid, he's the good guy. Oh, look, another box, that's just what we need."

I nodded at the floor. "Well, yeah, Hagrid's great, but Dumbledore kinda saved the whole world."

"Ugh, the whole time Dumbledore acted like he was looking out for Harry, but he fucking _knew_ what was gonna happen. Hagrid was the one who actually cared. I've never seen this box before. What's even in here?"

"I don't know, probably more of your fucking junk," I huffed, "and the point was, that Dumbledore did the right thing even though it wasn't the easiest thing."

"Oh, listen to Mr. Philosopher over there," you said, and even though I wasn't looking at you, I could see the eye-roll. "And this is not my junk, this is your junk. What is this, lyrics?"

"Excuse me, you are the primary junk-keeper in this house. And I am the primary philosopher." I proceeded to arrange the needles into a flower shape, liking the smell of them. "I nominate you to go put this in the loft with the rest of the Christmas decorations."

I expected some kind of complaint from the other side of the room, but all I got was silence.

"I said, you're gonna put this in the loft, okay?" I repeated, still engrossed in my flower arranging. I wish I'd have looked up sooner.

More silence.

"Patrick?"

" _What the fuck is this?"_ I heard you whisper.

I finally looked across the room at you. And when I saw you, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been tipped over the top of me.

You were standing next to the open wardrobe door, the duvet and the pillow at your feet, as well as an open, wooden box. In your hands, you held a sheet of crumpled paper. You'd found my letters.

_No. Oh, fuck no._

I sprang up off the floor and hurtled towards you, hands outstretched, but you sidestepped me and darted across the room, eyes trained on the paper.

"Patrick, put that down, please, don't-"

" _Hey Stump,"_ you read, your voice shaking along with your hands. _"Did you honestly believe that I want to waste any more of my time on you?"_

"No, no, please, don't, Patrick-"

" _You're so stupid...I don't give a shit about you anymore...you think you're worth waiting for, you think I actually want you to love me..."_ you swallowed hard, breathing out slowly. "What the fuck?"

I took a few steps towards you, my hands clasped in front of me. "Please, listen, it's nothing, it's from ages ago, please-"

" _As always, you were a let down,"_ you choked out, " _and you know better than anyone that disappointment is your middle name._ Disappointment," you repeated slowly, your eyes distraught.

"No, no, it's not what it looks like, I swear, Patrick, please!" I made another lunge at you, but you backed away.

"Get away from me," you spat, and holy fuck did that hurt. "You...you wrote this?"

I straightened up, breathing hard and pleading with my eyes. "Yes, ages ago, I did, but you weren't meant to read it, oh god..."

"Then why's it addressed to me?!" you cried, your voice raised and your eyes wide.

"Because, I started to write them in order to-"

" _Them?_ There's more of these?"

"Yes, but-"

"You think I'm stupid," you said quietly, gaze drifting to the floor.

It was like a punch in the stomach. "No, of course not, of course I don't think that," I begged, wanting to rush and hug you but knowing you'd push me away. I hadn't felt like that in years.

"Then why did you write it?! Why have you written such horrible things about me? I thought you loved me!" you yelled, clutching the paper tight and staring at me, your whole body tense.

I nearly burst into tears there and then. "Of course I love you, I love you more than anything, please, they're not all like that, there's nice ones too, I swear, of course I love you, oh god I love you so much!"

You just kept scanning the letter, though, and I could see you reading and re-reading those lines, see the panic on your face. I could see us falling apart.

"What the fuck is this?" you shrieked again, clutching a hand to your face as you read more of my poisonous words. I opened my mouth to say something, but your voice dropped suddenly. "This is about Mikey."

 _Oh shit, it's that one._ "No, no, Patrick, it's not what it looks like, I was in a bad place when I wrote that, you know I was, please-"

"The most perfect man you'd ever seen..." you said shakily, taking another few steps back from me.

"It's bullshit, Patrick, it's all bullshit," I insisted, my brain screaming _why didn't I lock the box? Why did I even keep the letters anyway?!_

"So...so you wrote this when you first met him?" you asked slowly, not looking at me.

I tried desperately to compose myself. "Yes, yes, it was years ago now, I don't think those things anymore. Please, just let me explain."

"Is this the worst one?"

I bit my lip, unable to stop guilt sinking through my face.

The hurt that flashed in your eyes tore me in two. "Pete, I..." you trailed off, your voice breaking up. "I don't...understand."

"Okay," I nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay. I know this looks bad, but please, let me explain. Please."

Your gaze moved between me and the paper in your hands, and I could see the horrible things I'd written bouncing around your mind. But, to my utter relief, you looked up at me and mumbled, "Okay."

I breathed out, the knot in my stomach loosening a little. "Thank you, thank you so much, okay, uh..." I frantically tried to figure out how the hell I was gonna have this conversation with you. "Uh, why don't you sit down," I said, motioning towards the bed.

You nodded slowly, not saying anything as you started to walk across the room. You kept your distance from me.

Trying my utmost not to let the tears stinging my eyes fall, I paced over to the wardrobe and picked up the box, shuffling the papers inside it and wishing I could go back in time and burn it.

Setting it down on the bed, I sat across from you, careful not to get too close. Your expression was unreadable, your gaze settling on the box.

"Okay, so," I sighed, wondering where to start. "Uh, so, like, when...when I first started to like you, what was it, ten years ago? I freaked out. I'd never been in love with anyone before, y'know, and you were way younger than me and you were in my damn band and stuff...and I got scared, I was feeling all this stuff and I didn't even know I liked guys and I didn't really know what to do, y'know?"

I paused to look at you, but your expression hadn't changed, the letter still clasped between your fingers.

"So, I, uh, I really wanted to get over you, and, uh, I tried a lot of stuff, like, not talking to you or trying to get with other people, but it didn't work. Then I read this one thing that said I could, like, write everything down, y'know, as if I was talking to you, then just lock it up and forget about it. And, uh, I liked writing, so I gave it a go.

"I mean, obviously, it didn't work," I laughed slightly, then stopped when you didn't look up, "but it just sorta became a thing I did to figure out stuff, like, get it straight in my head. They're all to you."

"How many are there?" you said quietly, finally glancing at me.

I stared at the pile of paper, every piece covered in my handwriting. "I dunno. A lot. Ten years worth of stuff."

You chewed on your lips, probably trying to take this all in. "Okay...are they all...like this one?" you asked, gesturing at the letter in your hand.

"No! No, of course not. That one...that one was written when, well, when I was trying to convince myself I didn't love you. I swear, all that horrible stuff is just me talking bullshit, acting like I didn't care about you." It was just my luck you happened to read that one first.

"Okay," you said slowly, nodding a little. "So they're kinda like diary entries?"

"Yeah, kinda," I replied, relieved that you'd started to talk more.

"You kept this a secret for ten years..."

"Well...yeah. I'm sorry, I just...no-one wants to find out their lover writes creepy letters to them behind their back. I didn't wanna freak you out." _Like I have right now._

"So...you've never told anyone?"

I shook my head. "I never really consciously kept them a secret, they're just a private thing, I guess. Oh, wait, Joe found one, once. He's never asked me about them again, though, so I don't think he knows I still write them sometimes."

"How often?"

"I don't know, it depends. Sometimes a lot happens quite quickly, so there's lots, then there's others that are, like, years apart. The last one I wrote was Christmas, I think."

You nodded again, still looking unsure, but the horror was fading from your face. "How come I never noticed?"

I shrugged. "I guess I usually write them late at night, or when no-one's around. Or, you probably have seen me do it, but it looks like I'm just writing lyrics or something. I honestly never set out to lie to you, they're just sort of a thing I do, that no-one else knows about, like when you talk to yourself when no-one's listening."

"O-okay," you stammered, "so, when you write them now, what do you write about?"

"I dunno, stuff that bothers me, bad stuff that's happened, good stuff that's happened. Anything, really. They are still mostly...mostly about you, though."

"So you've spent ten years bitching about me, basically," you said suddenly, starting to panic again studying the letter in your hand.

"No, no, I promise, the good ones far outweigh the bad ones, I never wrote them to hurt your feelings, just to get my own feelings sorted out," I protested, trying to save it. "I just...I'm a writer, y'know, that's how I express myself, I guess, like you with your music."

You bit your lip again, and I studied your face for any signs of tears. There were some in your eyes, but they hadn't spilled yet, and I was determined they weren't ever going to. "Okay," you said softly, frowning at the box.

I ran a hand across my face. "Patrick, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Listen, we can move on from this, we'll just burn the whole box and forget it ever happened, I'll never write another one, if that's what you want. Just tell me what you want."

"No, I, uh," you started, then shook your head. "I don't, uh...can - can I read them?"

My eyebrows shot up my head. "Do you _want_ to read them?" I asked, incredulous.

You looked nervous, but watched me steadily anyway. "Do you want me to read them?"

I frowned. "Well...I don't know, I mean...they're kinda private, I guess." They were pretty much an insight into my head, everything I felt but never said.

"Okay," you nodded, "that's okay, I get that."

"Really?" I said with disbelief.

"Yeah, it's okay. They're private, I understand that. Just... do you still write ones like this one?"

"No. Don't even think for a second that any of that stuff is true, I was stupid and drunk and messed up, please, you know I don't think those things about you. You're everything to me."

Your eyes lightened at that, and something like a smile appeared on your face. "Thank you. Okay." You placed the letter in your hands back in the box.

My heart lifted. "Wait - so, so...we're okay? You're - you're not gonna leave me?"

You shook your head at me. "Of course not, moron. You're a bit creepier than you were before, but - no, we're okay."

I almost fainted with sheer relief. "Oh thank god, thank you, holy shit, it was touch and go there for a minute, holy crap..."

Holding my arms out, I made towards you a little, looking hopeful. You smiled a little, then shoved the box out of the way and returned the hug. It was a little hesitant, but it was a hug all the same, and I felt myself realising yet again how lucky I am to have you.

And then I thought _wait a second._ These letters spill everything, all my thoughts and feelings and whatever, for the most part, they are the stark truth of who I am, I guess. And didn't you deserve to know that? In fact, didn't I _want_ you to know that?

When we broke the hug, you sat back on your feet, still with an air of shell-shock about you, but looking like you'd calmed down.

"Actually, uh...I think I do want you to read them," I fumbled, glancing at the box.

"Are - are you sure?" you said sceptically, looking a bit scared.

"Only if you want to, obviously. And if you don't wanna read the bad ones, that's fine too. I dunno, I just feel like we shouldn't have secrets from each other."

Uncertainty was still plastered all over your face, but you smiled a bit. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I agree with that. Can - can I just read a couple, then see?"

"Yeah, yeah of course," I reached for the box, rifling through it, until my fingers hit the velvet at the bottom of it. Then I scooped the whole lot out, and dumped them in the middle of us.

"Fuck," you said, puffing a laugh through your nose. "Which one's first?"

"Uh..." I reached for the letter at the bottom of the pile. It was the shortest, so it was probably the first. It was all crumpled and the handwriting was awful, but I handed it to you all the same.

You looked quite terrified as you took it, sitting cross-legged and starting to read. I looked at the pile in front of me, then realised _holy fuck, I gotta put this lot in order._

" _Just some stupid kid?_ " you read suddenly, sounding annoyed. "Thanks a bunch."

"Sorry. I - I think there's quite a lot of that to start with," I said, wincing.

But then, you looked up from the paper, nodding. "Well, okay, that wasn't as bad as I thought."

"You want the next one?"

"Uh...yeah, okay, go on then," you said, placing the letter to one side. The second one was just the next one up, maybe this wouldn't be as difficult to order as I thought.

You took it from me, the page filled with more scribbles this time, on both sides.

I gradually built up a little pile, going last to first so you'd just be able to pick the next one off the top.

"Hey, my taste in hats is second to none," you asserted, scowling at the paper. " _A dressed-up marshmallow?!"_ you shrieked a little later, gawking at me. "That's what you thought of me when you first met me, a _dressed up marshmallow?"_

I made to apologise, but I saw the laughter in your eyes, so I just shrugged and said, "I like marshmallows."

You kept smiling as you read, occasionally humming little noises of recognition or puffing laughs through your nose. Then you stopped, looking straight at me.

"You - you seriously thought I was _that good?_ " you breathed, pointing at the bit where I'd described your voice as a sunset or something.

I nodded, remembering what it'd been like when I'd first heard you sing. I stand by every word of my poetic bullshit. "Yeah. Boy, am I glad we made you the singer."

You rolled your eyes at me, but I saw the pink in your cheeks.

It didn't go away, either, as you started on the next one, putting your fingers to your lips to hide your grin.

By the time it was dark outside, you'd ploughed through quite a few of them, and I'd piled them all up neatly, which was difficult because they're all written on different types of paper, some tiny little scraps which you can hardly read, some on hotel paper, or hospital paper, even one that's on a huge reel of loo paper.

I sat beside you, reading a book, the pillows propped up behind us, shoulder to shoulder. Every so often you'd make little comments ("How drunk were you when you wrote this?" "Shit, I ruined our first kiss big time," "Uh oh," "You were so right about her,") or ask me what the hell that word said, or I'd feel you tense up at something horrible I'd written, and reassure you that it was not in the slightest bit true.

"Ugh, I'm so annoying," you'd laughed, when you'd reached my complaints about your perfectionism. "That's one thing that's true."

"Yup," I grinned, 'cause it wasn't worth lying about. I went back to my book. I didn't notice your smile disappearing.

In fact, I didn't notice that anything was wrong until I heard you say my name very quietly.

"Yeah," I responded, looking over at you. _Oh, shit._ You were clasping the paper tight, your other hand pressed over your mouth, muffled sobs spilling between your fingers, and tears streaking your face. "Patrick, what...?"

You leant into me, your fingers twisting in my shirt, dropping the letter and hugging me tight. I wrapped an arm around your shoulders, putting my book down and reaching for the letter.

 _Oh. Oh, yeah._ It was the one I'd never finished, the one that was nearly my last. I'm so glad it wasn't.

"I'm so sorry, Pete," you choked, "I should've helped, I should've realised...you _are_ supposed to live, you _are."_

"I know," I said, nodding at you. "I know that now."

I let you cry for a little longer, holding you tight and stroking my fingers through your hair. Then, I reached for the next letter, handing it to you. "Read this one. It's better, I promise."

You nodded, but didn't move. By the time you'd finished that one, it was getting late, and your tears were slowing, interrupted by smiles and the occasional yawn.

That night, we each slept in the other's arms.

-

Over the next few weeks, you made your way through all of them, usually reading them in the evenings when we're slumped in front of the TV together. I like to be near you when you're reading them, just so I can clarify stuff and make sure you're okay with all of this.

I can usually tell whereabouts you've got to by how close you sit to me; sometimes you'll be cuddled right up close, like you're making sure I can't disappear. That's usually during the ones where I was drunk or depressed or both.

Sometimes, you'll just sit next to me, grinning from ear to ear, and I love that 'cause I can feel you buzzing with happiness, occasionally returning compliments and kisses. I like the comments you make, I think you sometimes forget it's about us, and huff things like _Oh for fuck's sake, just break up with her already!_ or _Kiss him, you idiot, fucking kiss him!_ or your rather horrified cry of _You wrote about us having sex?!_

Then there's the other times. I'd been dreading it, because I knew you were getting close, and I think so had you, 'cause you knew the one you'd found first was coming up soon.

I'd told you that some were horrible. And not just mean, but deeply insulting, picking on your personality, your looks, your weight. I'd told you not to read them, to skip past them 'cause everything I'd written was lies, but you insisted. I don't really blame you, if it was me I'd have probably done the same.

-

It took you a couple of evenings to get through them, and both nights, you sat at the opposite end of the couch. It was awful to watch. You didn't cry, you just sorta frowned, a dead look in your eyes the whole time. Sometimes you'd stop reading halfway through, taking a few moments to calm your breathing down.

"I'm okay, I just need some space," you'd said, when I tried to comfort you. I think of everything I'd written, it was being compared to Mikey that hurt you the most. That, and being reminded of what I'd done to you.

I saw the full effect on one of those nights, when we'd both gone to bed, but I'd fallen asleep before you. You usually sleep like a log, you never toss or turn at all, it's like you go into hibernation every night. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, you were still awake, staring at the ceiling, and I could see the flecks of light in your eyes.

"'Trick?" I slurred at you, shifting my heavy body to look at you.

You blinked at me, but didn't say anything.

"You 'kay?"

Closing your eyes briefly, you nodded.

"Can't you sleep?"

You didn't respond, just curled up on your side with your back to me.

I shuffled across to you, placing a hand on your waist, but you flinched and swatted it away.

"Just...space," you said quietly, and I think I understood. I guess you never expected some of the worst moments of your life to be quoted word for word by someone you trusted. I could see the tension in your body, the pain of remembering. I left you alone for the rest of the night.

I'm not sure if you actually read the one I'd written about what happened that time in the meeting room. I saw you start it, I saw you reading how me and Mikey broke up, then I think you remembered where it was going. Eventually, you shook your head, closing your eyes briefly before skipping to the end. I think both of us were glad you did that.

-

Then, the night after we'd filmed the video for My Songs, and I'd stayed behind to help with some of the editing, I came home to find you in pieces.

You were sobbing, collapsed on the couch and crying into the pillows. You looked up when I walked in the door, your face sodden with tears and your hair sticking up all over the place.

"Patrick, oh my god, what happened?!" I'd pretty much yelled at you, running over to the sofa and seeing... _oh, fuck._ And seeing pages of my handwriting spread around you.

But you didn't flinch away from me this time, you hurled yourself at me, making me topple over onto the sofa, feeling your tears on my face.

"Patrick, what is it? Baby, what's the matter?" I hadn't seen you cry like this in a very long time.

"I'm s-so sorry...I d-didn't realise h-how...how much I h-hurt you...I'm s-so sorry, Pete, I'm so sorry," you bawled, burying your face in my chest.

 _Ah. I get it._ "Did you get to the one where we broke up?" I asked gently, shifting into a more comfortable position and toeing my shoes off.

You nodded, letting out another sob. "I n-never thought how h-hard it was for...for you, I'm s-so sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It all turned out for the best, eh?" I said, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You smiled at that, but continued to cry, eventually sitting up and pressing your fingers to your eyes.

"I promise it gets better," I told you, gathering up the papers and handing you the next letter. "Just keep reading, you're nearly done."

You did keep reading, and it did get better. Over the next few days, you laughed at my reaction to having to go all the way to L.A just for coffee, you marvelled at how much of a dick I'd thought you were, you winced at the memory of drinking 'til you passed out, you smiled at our cute pier-side reunion.

-

I was next to you watching the news when you started to read all the ones I'd written this year, and I could feel you brewing with happiness beside me, the smile on your face so bright it seemed as if it might never go away.

At one point, you pretty much jumped on my lap, taking my face in your hands and kissing me hard, giggling all the while.

"What is it?" I'd asked, grinning, when you'd finally pulled away.

You rested your forehead against mine and beamed. "You write the sweetest things," you said quietly, stroking a finger down my cheek and pecking me on the nose. "I love you so much."

That was when I finally began to think that letting you read the letters might've been a good idea after all.

-

You've finished all of them, now. It's quite good, 'cause I didn't have to make sure you weren't around when I started writing this one. You're sprawled out on the sofa, we had a really long day at the studio, and your voice is exhausted, so you've gone silent for a bit.

The record is getting there, and guess which song's first? There's a reason you're gonna be tied up in most of our music videos.

Yesterday, we announced the return of the band. We were all a bit worried that no-one would care, that they'd all just have forgotten about us and moved on. But the response, so far, has been mind-blowing. I think it reminded us why we got back together in the first place, it seems like it might've been worth all the stress. I got a call from Charlotte about five minutes after we uploaded the link, I couldn't understand most of what she was saying, she was speaking fangirl. I think it's safe to say she likes the new song.

You're over the moon. The last couple records you put out didn't quite go as planned, so to have this kind of reaction made you literally leap for joy, it was adorable.

I know you're watching me. You're on my sofa now, you

**_Can I write something?_ **

You just did, Patrick, and just 'cause you can't talk, doesn't mean you gotta steal my paper.

**_I'm not stealing, I'm borrowing._ **

It doesn't matter, this is my letter, to you, you can't write in your own letter.

**_Oh, look, I just did._ **

You're using a different pen and everything, it's ruining the aesthetic.

**_Well I can't use your pen, you'd just get annoyed._ **

I'm already annoyed. And you're laying on my foot.

**_You're easy to annoy. And maybe I like laying on your foot._ **

Well maybe, if you keep laying on my foot, you'll soon be laying on the floor.

**_Whoa, watch out for Mr. Sassy over here, he's brutal. Anyway, what are we writing about?_ **

_We're_ not writing about anything, _I'm_ writing about you reading the letters.

**_Oh, I see. So we're writing a letter about you writing a letter about me reading the letters that you've written?_ **

Shut up.

**_I didn't say anything. And stop poking me in the leg._ **

Only if you get off my foot.

**_Right, fine, I will get off. But I'm taking the letter with me._ **

**_I'm in our bedroom now, in case you were wondering. Wait, so, am I writing to you as in Pete or am I writing to you as in the personified letter? Or me? It's addressed to me, so I guess I'm technically writing to myself. That's a bit strange. I need to put that right._ **

**_Dear Pete,_ **

**_There we go, now I'm writing to you. A letter within a letter._ **

**_You didn't follow me up the stairs, so I'm going to assume you're okay with me writing a letter of my own._ **

**_I'll be honest, I did freak out a bit about this whole thing. I don't think this is something that normal couples have to deal with. But then I suppose we've never really been a normal couple._ **

**_Although, you know me, and you know how silly I get when it comes to insults. You're right, I couldn't bear reading the things you said about Mikey, I was so envious of him. But that doesn't matter anymore._ **

**_What matters is the fact that some of the things you wrote, they remind me why I love you. I know you think the past still haunts me, and I suppose, sometimes, I do still think of it. But it's like you said, it all turned out for the best. We're different people now._ **

**_Anyway, I never thought I'd meet anyone, let alone fall in love with anyone, who thought such lovely things about me. You're the kindest person I've ever met, I hope you know that. You write like it's me who's the main character, and yet you're the one who's sweet and thoughtful. I can't tell you how much you mean to me, I can't even write it down._ **

**_I don't mind you writing the letters, please, keep doing it. I'll only read them if you want me to. Thank you for sharing them with me, you were right, I_** **do** ** _want to know as much about you as possible, and reading them has only confirmed to me how extraordinarily lucky I am. Everything that happened in the past, it was all worth it to be here, living in the same house as you, waking up in your arms._**

**_I'm not good at this like you are. I never quite know what to say, or how to say it, I don't often think in terms of words like you do. But I'll give it a shot._ **

**_I love you. And, when I say that, it's important that you understand that I'm not simply saying it because it's what couples do, I'm saying it because it's probably the truest thing I've ever felt. I love it when you grin your huge goofy grin, I love that you're so obsessed with things being tidy, I love it when you don't straighten your hair and it goes all fuzzy and you let me stroke it. I realise that out of the two of us, I'm probably worse at saying what I feel, so let me try to make up for it; I really, really, love you. I don't know how else to put it._ **

**_I need to finish this now, because I'm running out of paper. I'm sorry I can't write more, sorry I can't repay you fully for all the lovely things you wrote about me._ **

**_I can say this, though: I'm so proud of you. Only now I've read your feelings from the very beginning do I realise how much you've changed, how much you went through to get where you are. Thank you for everything you've done for me, everything you wrote about me. Thank you for the cuddles and the kisses, thank you for putting up with me for nearly twelve years. Thank you for making me happier than anyone or anything ever has._ **

**_I love you, Pete. Even more than I love hot chocolate._ **

**_From Patrick_ **

-

Okay. Well, this is weird. Letter-ception.

Thank you so much, Patrick.

**_That's quite alright._ **

Will you go away and let me finish?

**_No._ **

Leave, or I'll make you uncomfortable by writing about having sex with you.

**_Ugh, okay. That's still weirding me out, by the way._ **

Good, I'll keep doing it.

**_Fuck you._ **

If you'd like.

Okay, you've actually gone now.

Seriously, though, thank you so much for being okay with this. The best thing is, that you weren't even that surprised at most things (apart from that one bit about Joe thinking you were a virgin, you were properly pissed about that), and most of the stuff in those letters, you already seemed to have guessed. But then I s'pose you've always known me better than I know myself. I'll definitely reward you by tying you to the headboard later tonight. I'm so glad we made that little agreement, especially now there's no boxes to distract me. We're officially moved in, and we're closer than we've ever been. We just _know_ each other, y'know? It's fucking amazing.

I've planted my tree in the garden. I was a bit worried, 'cause it's pretty cold, and I didn't want it to die, but it seems okay, I've been giving it lots of tree-feed, and it's got a little stick to keep it upright.

And now that you've gone, now I'm about to sign this one off and put it in the box with the rest of them, I can write this; you think you've read all the letters. You haven't. Before I gave you the pile, I took out the last one I wrote. I can't have you knowing what I'm planning on doing.

Because this has made up my mind. The way you came to terms with this, the way you accepted me, the things you wrote in return, it's made my mind up completely.

That thing I said I'd do in the last letter? I'm gonna do it.

From Pete xxxx


	56. Chapter 56

To my gorgeous fiancé to be,

I'm so excited. I've literally never been this excited in my entire life, not even when they started making double-stuffed Oreos. Every time I see you, I go all squealy, and I have this overwhelming desire to cuddle you.

I gotta be careful though, I'm scared I might just crack and blurt the question at you while you're doing the dishes. You've been doing a lot more chores since you read my letters, it's quite sweet actually, even though after you've washed the dishes, I gotta wash them again straight after 'cause you just dip them in the water then put them on the draining board. But I appreciate the effort.

Anyway, I'm in ultimate secretive mode at the moment. Next week, that's when I'm gonna do it. I've been on the waiting list for this one really fancy restaurant for a while now, and I finally got a table for us. It's gonna be so perfect, we'll have the starter and the main, then just before pudding, I'll take your hand and kiss it slowly, then I'll get down on one knee, and ask you to make me the happiest man in the entire universe. It's cheesy, but it's so fucking true.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: _I'm so excited._

-

I'd been waiting a while for an opportunity to start arranging my ass off and make this thing perfect, but I kept being delayed 'cause you kept just being _there_ , like, the entire time.

Then came the phone call.

We were at Bob's house, planning tours and shows and things, but all actual work had been discarded in favour of staring at you, pacing around the room with your phone to your ear.

"No, we did get your email, thank you, my manager just passed on the message - yes, it's such an honour, thank you, I - okay, definitely, if that's okay, yes," you said, speaking fast and clutching the phone with both hands.

We all had expectant faces; we knew what this was about, but nothing had been confirmed and it seemed like everything hung upon your conversation.

"We only wondered if - well, yes, we'll send you anything you need, of course, but - really? Okay, holy shi- smokes, that would be perfect. Two hours? Yes, that's perfect. Okay. Yes, I'll fly out this weekend, yes, that's fine, thank you, no, I - well yes, obviously, no, indeed - I really do, thank you so much, thank you, yes, we'll be in contact. Thank you, yes, just - thank you so much. Okay. Right. Okay. Bye!"

You stopped pacing, and hung up, staring at the phone for a few seconds and blowing out a slow breath. Then, you spun round to face us.

"So...that was Sir Elton John's management..." you said faintly, touching a hand to your glasses.

We all raised our eyebrows at you, waiting for you to give us the good news.

You didn't just give it to us, though, you scooped up a massive handful of good news and threw it at our faces. "He said yes! He's gonna be on the record!" you shrieked, flinging yourself at the nearest human-shaped object, which happened to be Andy.

Andy caught you easily, laughing, and I think you just about throttled him in your excitement, because he very slowly prised you off himself and placed you back on the floor. You didn't stop grinning, though, herding us all into a group hug and squeezing us like we were a not-quite-empty tube of toothpaste.

"So, he said yes, and, and he wants to record as soon as possible, and, and he likes our stuff and I'm gonna go to Atlanta and I'm gonna record him and I'm gonna actually get to speak to actual _Sir Elton John_ and he said he's looking forward to it _and_ I can't believe he said yes oh my god it's gonna be so amazing, and also I-" You were cut off by your own need for air, swallowing quickly and breathing a grin around at all of us.

It's funny, seeing you so happy made me happier than anything else, Elton John or no. At this point, you were pretty much vibrating with excitement, your hat clinging on for dear life and your glasses slipping down your nose, so it was only in the interests of your facial furniture's safety that I grabbed you and kissed you.

You kissed back through giggles, throwing your arms round my neck and letting me glide my hands down to cup your butt, which was a fucking miracle 'cause you never usually allow this kind of behaviour in front of anyone. God bless Elton John.

"Uh...guys," I heard someone say, and was fully prepared to ignore them completely, when you pulled back, still giggling and blushing like crazy.

"Sorry," you smiled, leaning into my chest and letting me fix your skewed fedora.

Flashing a sheepish grin at everyone in the room, I tried not to look too proud of myself for being half of the PDA couple. I didn't take my hand off your ass, though.

"So, Atlanta, huh?" Joe asked, poking you in the shoulder.

You couldn't even respond to that without giggling. "Yeah, this weekend!" you squeaked, squirming about in my arms. Then you stopped, looking at me anxiously. "Is it okay if I leave you?"

I smiled a bit. "No, actually. You gotta stay here, I won't let you go, you'll just have to tell Mr. John that the deal's off."

You batted me in the chest, but apparently the giggles weren't going away any time soon. "Love you," you beamed, nuzzling my neck.

"So," I said, suddenly realising that this was my golden opportunity, "you're gonna be away for the whole weekend?"

"Yeah, I guess I'll fly out on Friday...why?"

"No reason, I just wondered," I said airily.

"Hey, you could come too!" you exclaimed, blinking at me hopefully.

 _Uh oh. Don't give in to the puppy dog eyes, Pete_. "Nah," I said, as nonchalantly as I could. "I'll leave you singers to it, I think."

I braced myself for questions, but you just hummed a noise of acceptance into my neck, and carried on grinning.

-

And you kept grinning for the next four days, singing Crocodile Rock in my ear so often that I started to think, _do I really wanna_ _marry_ _this_ _kid_? _Really_? But then you'd do something cute like breathe or blink and I'd know the answer was only ever gonna be _yes_.

I couldn't get you out the door fast enough; I'd mentally planned out everything I needed to do while you were away, I'd been practicing my _I totally don't want to marry you_ face, and I'd kept my laptop as far away from you as possible in the event of my search history giving me away. I want this to be a complete surprise, I want to see the look on your face when I ask the question. Let's just hope it's a smile.

You didn't half make it difficult for me, though.

For starters, you were pretty much hounding me the whole week with questions about the record, titles, album art, stuff we should've sorted out ages ago, whether I'd emailed that dude about that thing, whether we were completely happy with this tiny piece of production or that one vocal harmony. Then, when I tried and failed to show a genuine interest, being a bit preoccupied, you got annoyed and we'd argue and I wouldn't be able to tell you why and it kinda sucked. But then we'd just have amazing makeup sex, so it wasn't all bad.

And then you went and tried to get me to go with you, again. But this time, you made it way more difficult to refuse.

"I'm just saying, the hotel I booked is amazing, you don't know what you're missing," you'd shrugged as you threw a few items of clothing in your bag, sprawled on the bedroom floor.

"No, it's okay, I've got work to do," I insisted, not looking at you in case you pulled the eyes again.

"Are you serious? I'm sure the label will do fine without you for _one_ _weekend_."

I hummed an unsure noise at you, fluffing and re-fluffing the pillows behind me.

"Come on," you cooed, leaning back against the bed and blinking at me, "Atlanta is real nice."

"Nope."

"We get a mini-bar and everything."

"Nope."

"We could fuck for three days straight."

"N - what?"

You laughed, and I shook my head as convincingly as I could while my brain yelled at me to _calm the fuck down_.

"Think about it, breakfast in bed, chocolates on our pillows, crazy animal sex in the middle of the day. It'll be great," you beamed, with that fucking angelic face of yours. _I fucking hate him._

I screwed up my face, knowing that however much I wanted to, I'd have to say no. "Listen, Patrick...I can't, okay, I've got stuff to do."

"What stuff?" you pouted.

"Just stuff, I dunno, work stuff," I whined back at you, wishing I was a better liar.

"Ugh, I can't believe you'd rather do work than do me," you huffed, zipping your bag with as much attitude as you could possibly muster.

"I really wouldn't, Patrick," I sighed, wishing you knew how true that was.

"Fine," you said finally, getting up and flopping onto the bed beside me. "It'll be all the better when I get back, then."

I nodded, breathing out and giving you a grin that was mostly made of relief that you hadn't asked any more questions. "Yeah, it will."

You kissed me then, softly and sweetly, and for one fleeting second, the press of your peachy pink lips made me think _fuck it, I'll just_ _ask him now_.

But I couldn't. No-one strays from the to-do list.

-

You had one last shot at getting me to come, when I was dropping you off at the airport, but you didn't mention any more crazy animal sex so I was able to stand my ground. I think you'd pretty much given up by that point, though, you were so damn excited, I hardly even got a proper kiss goodbye 'cause you were bouncing about so much.

I watched you disappear off into the crowd with a huge smile on my face, 'cause all I could think was _I'm gonna marry that one_.

-

However, it turned out that time wasn't prepared to stop in order to give me long enough to get everything done, so I practically fell in through the door and turned my mental list into a physical list. I'm very much a list man.

First off, family approval. Now, this wasn't specifically necessary since my entire family loves the socks off you, but, I dunno, it just felt like something I should do. Now I have a dad, I wanna make full use of him.

It still feels good to have "Dad" in my contacts. I hit the green button and jogged up and down on the spot, then sat down on the sofa in case I ended up breaking anything.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dad, it's me," I said, trying not to smile, 'cause I've been doing so much of that lately I think I might damage my face.

"Oh, hello, Pete, how are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good, you?"

"Mustn't grumble."

"Cool." _Oh, these deep conversations we have_. I decided I had to get to the point or I might explode. "Listen, uh, I got something to ask - well, tell - no, ask, I guess."

He made a humming noise, and I heard the sound of dishes clattering around. "Is it something I need to be sitting down for?"

"Well, I dunno, uh, it's not bad or anything. Or I guess it could be, if, if you say no, but, I mean, I think it's a good thing," I babbled, my tongue deciding to take the reins and run with them.

The sound of clinking china stopped. "Okay, I'm sitting down. Fire away."

I cleared my throat whilst my brain repeatedly slapped my tongue and wrestled back the reins. "Right. Alright. Okay. So. Uh, y'know Patrick?"

"...yes..."

"And, uh, y'know how we're living together and, like, we've been together quite a while now..." _A year counts as a while, a year counts as a while._

"Yes...are you still happy?"

"Yeah, yes, we - we really are, and I, uh, think I'd quite like to ask him to marry me."

There was a short silence. Then he exploded.

"My goodness, son, that's fantastic, well done," I could hear the smile in his voice. "You hear that, sweetheart? Our boy's getting married," he called. "She'd be so proud of you, Pete," he said quietly.

I beamed into the pillow I was hugging. "So, you're okay with it?"

He laughed. "You needn't have asked, he's already one of the family. As long as he makes you happy, I'm happy."

"He does. He really does."

"Well alright then. When are you thinking of doing it?"

"Uh, I have a restaurant booked for a couple of weeks time. He might not say yes, so, like, don't get overexcited."

"He will. You two are so right for each other."

I grinned against the phone. "Okay. Thanks, dad, I know I didn't have to ask, but, I guess I wanted your, like, blessing and stuff."

"Well you have it. Now, go get a ring!" He laughed, like I'd forgotten. As if I'd forget, I have a list.

"Thanks. See you soon!"

"Congratulations, make sure you call me when you've done it."

"Okay, dad. Bye!"

I sat there, smiling at the phone, for a good ten minutes before I realised that the next thing on my list was exactly what dad had said: _go buy a ring_.

-

Ring shopping took ages. Like, I lost the whole rest of that day and half of Saturday just browsing, in this really posh mall with people in it who looked like they might report me for wearing skinny jeans.

It was hilarious to see people's faces when they politely asked the ring size of the lucky lady, only to have me reply _actually, it's for my boyfriend._

Being the master of preparation that I am, I'd known your ring size for a while. I'd always loved playing with your hands, so when I started examining your ring finger in much greater detail, you didn't suspect a thing. One morning, when I'd woken up before you, I'd fetched a tape measure and curled it around your finger, so I knew exactly what would fit. Maybe that's creepy, but I just really fucking love your hands.

The problem was, the master of preparation hadn't quite realised how picky he was, and how many damn choices there are to make. _Do I go with gold, white gold or platinum? Solitaire set or channel set? Asscher cut or Marquise cut?_

Plus, I realised that you're a dude. And, I guess, usually, the girl wears the engagement ring, but there was a section of 'Male Engagement Rings' just in case the guy feels his masculinity is seriously threatened by wearing a fucking metal band on his finger. But they were all kinda chunky, some had black diamonds, or were really thick and stuff, I was half expecting one to have a dick etched into it just so it was entirely clear.

But I'm a gay dude, so I like pretty things, and you're pretty, and I wanted a pretty ring to go on your pretty finger. I went for gold, in the end, this gold band with another band twined round it which criss-crosses over itself at the top, 'cause I thought it would match your golden brown hair, and the ring of gold around your pupils. Then, I chose the most perfect diamond in the shop, Old European cut, colourless and flawless, obviously. Then, for the accent stones, I chose six little sapphires, three clustered on each side. They match your eyes.

The ring people made it early the next day, and I went to collect it. It's absolutely beautiful. You'll upstage it by miles, though.

-

So, with Saturday spent on rings, a very enthusiastic phone call from you about how amazing it went, and half of Sunday already gone, I'd left the two most important things 'till last. And also the two most scary things.

I pretty much knew my dad was gonna be fine with it. I'm glad I've got his blessing, but there were two other people I needed to ask. Your parents. _Holy mother of crap_.

Your family's quite traditional, so I wanted to do this the old-fashioned way. I needed your dad's permission, otherwise we'd have to, like, elope or something. Which I was fine with, but with the band and stuff, eloping would be quite difficult.

Anyway, I put on my best suit, combed my hair, checked I wasn't smelly, then jumped in my car, the little velvet box in my pocket. I figured, if I already had a ring, then maybe they'd see that this wasn't just some spur-of-the-moment thing, and I was absolutely serious about it.

I hadn't called to warn them, so I was kinda worried that they might not be in, or they might be busy, or they might just think it's plain rude of me to turn up uninvited. Basically, I was completely petrified of them.

My hand was shaking as I knocked on the door. There were a few cars outside, it looked like someone was in, so there was no chance of me being able to run away.

The door started to open. _Please be his mum, please be his mum_.

"Oh, hello, Pete," a deep voice said.

My heart sank. "Hey, Mr Stump," I said, wringing my hands together. "Listen, uh, I'm sorry I turned up like this, but, uh, do you have time to talk?"

"Yes, of course, come in, Patricia's mother and Grace are here at the moment, but you know both of them already."

I nodded and followed him inside, even though I had no idea who Grace was, and my insides were screaming _oh god, it's the horrible_ _grandma_.

Okay, so, she wasn't really horrible anymore, she'd been fine at Christmas, she hadn't made any comments about our relationship since that one time. But at the moment, that was all I could think about, the way she'd backhanded you when you told her you were with me. Between her and your dad, I was mincemeat.

Still, I smiled when your dad made small talk, sat down on the chair opposite him like this conversation wouldn't make or break my entire life. Your grandma was nowhere to be seen, so maybe I'd only have to deal with your dad. I tried my utmost to relax. _Just be nice. He doesn't hate me anymore, he came to Christmas, he was perfectly fine with me then, it'll be fine._

"So, Pete, what is it that brings you here?" He asked, leaning back in his chair. I suddenly felt like I was at a job interview.

"Uh, well, I actually, uh, I have a question to ask you, sir," I said, trying to stop my voice jumping about so much.

He raised an eyebrow, "yes?"

I cleared my throat a little. "Uh, well, me and Patrick have-"

"Patrick and I," he interrupted.

"Uh...what?"

"Patrick and _I,_ not _me_ and Patrick," he clarified.

I gaped at him. "Oh, okay, yes, sorry, right," I stammered, completely thrown off by the sudden emergence of the Grammar Police.

He waved a hand. "Go ahead."

"Yes, okay, well, uh, me and - Patrick and I, we've been together for a while now, and, uh, I think I'd like to, uh, well - can - can I marry your son, sir?"

I breathed out, bracing myself for whatever was gonna come next.

"Hmm," he said narrowing his eyes at me. "You'd like to propose. Why is that, exactly?" He didn't ask it like a genuine question, I knew he was testing me. _Come on, say the right words, for once._

"Well," I started, looking at him steadily, "I love him. I just, like, really really love him."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

I had no idea what more he wanted from me. "And, uh, I wanna spend the rest of my life with him?"

He let out a rush of air and stared straight at me. "And, can you provide for him? Do you respect him, will you remain faithful to him, do you love him for his body or for his mind? Is this some spur of the moment whim or have you really, genuinely thought about this?"

I blinked at him. "Uh, well, yes, and uh...no, I guess I don't, uh..." I fumbled, not knowing which question to answer first.

"A year is a short time, son. Do you think it's been long enough for you to really know?"

"Yes," I asserted, pursing my lips. "I've known him for so long, and I've loved him for so long, and now I'm certain." _Points for Pete, I think._

"Okay. Now, given your actions towards him in the past...will you hurt him?"

"I'll never cause him physical pain, if that's what you mean. I'll never lay a vicious hand on him. I'll never intentionally hurt him, but I can't guarantee we won't sometimes hurt each other, accidentally. We'll always make amends, though." I resisted the urge to cheer at how mature that was.

He nodded, and he even looked kinda impressed. "Alright, young man. Can you satisfy him, then? Emotionally, intellectually, and...well, sexually?"

I choked on thin air. "Uh, well, we're, uh pretty much on the same page, like, emotionally, and uh, intellectually, I guess..." _What does_ _that even mean? How do I intellectually satisfy him_? "And the sex is great," I blurted. _Why. Why did I say that_? I felt my face heat up. "Well, I mean, it's, like, well-"

"Alright," he interrupted, looking rather sorry he'd asked the question. "And will you be faithful?"

"Yes," I said, shrugging because obviously I'm gonna be faithful to you. To be honest, it never even crossed my mind that either of us would ever sleep with anyone else because, like, what's the point? Who wants forgettable fucking and no cuddling after?

"Okay," he said, folding his arms like he was a bouncer. "And will you-"

"Oh for goodness' sake," a voice called from the doorway, "just let him marry the boy."

It was your grandma. She was shuffling through the doorway, shaking her head at your dad.

"You listen to me, Pete," she said, pointing a finger at me, "don't pay any attention to him." She waved a hand in your dad's direction. "I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather have married to my grandson. You boys will be very happy. Grace, have you got my tea?"

A girl appeared in the doorway behind her, holding a cup and saucer, yet still managing to text at the same time. "Yup, I'm right here."

The both wandered past us, heading for the kitchen, then the girl, Grace, glanced at me and smiled.

"I knew you'd marry him," she grinned, holding the cup and saucer up to me as a sort of _cheers_ gesture, then followed your grandma away from us.

It took me a second of thinking to realise where I recognised her from; perhaps because the last time I'd seen her, she'd been in an elf outfit. _Oh my god._ Wow. I felt this huge rush of nostalgia, thinking about that little kid who'd scared the shit out of me during our first Christmas together. She's all grown up now. Fuck, I'm old.

I stared after her for a while, wondering if I should say something or follow her, then realised your dad was still sitting across from me. I turned to face him, my fingers knotting themselves together.

"Hmm," he hummed, narrowing his eyes again.

I shifted in my seat. _Am I supposed to say something to that, or...?_

He sighed heavily. "Alright, Pete. You may marry my son."

I felt this rush of relief through me, and my brain finally released my mouth from its death grip. 'Thank you, sir, thank you so much, I'm gonna make him so happy, I swear you won't regret this, I-"

"Pete?" A voice called from the hall. "Darling, is Pete here?"

It was your mum. As soon as she rounded the corner, her face lit up, and she rushed at me.

I stood up just in time to hug her. "Pete, sweetie, it's so good to see you! Don't you look smart! Have you been here long? Would you like a drink of something?"

"Uh, no, and, uh, no thanks," I said, unable to keep the grin from my face. You dad wore a slight smile, too.

"What's going on?" your mum asked, laughing a little and flicking her gaze between the two of us.

Your dad stood up and raised his eyebrows at me. I took that as the a-okay.

"Uh," I started, feeling heat in my cheeks. "I'd like to ask Patrick to marry me."

Your mum let out what can only be described as a sob, and threw her arms around my neck. "That's wonderful, sweetheart, oh goodness gracious that's wonderful, isn't that wonderful, darling!" she shrieked, finally letting me go and looking at your dad, nearly glowing with happiness.

"Yes," you dad said softly, and he looked like he meant it.

"I, uh, I have a ring," I said suddenly, digging around in my pocket. I was so proud of this thing, I had to show it to _someone_.

Your mum was positively beaming as she took the box from me, and as she opened it, she looked like she might pass out. "Oh, darling, isn't it beautiful! He'll love it, Pete, he'll absolutely love it!"

I smiled harder. _I really hope he does._

She hugged me again when she handed me back the ring.

"You two are going to be so happy," she said to me quietly, as they were saying goodbye.

And as I drove away from their house, waving from the window, I knew she was absolutely right.

-

With them done, there was only one person left. Debatably the most important person.

I was gonna save this trip 'til Monday, before your flight got in, but I was so fired up from overcoming your dad that I decided I'd do it on the way home.

Joe'd been staying at Andy's for a while whilst we played some shows in Chicago, so this was almost like asking your parents all over again. Except, I was more likely to end up with a black eye.

Not that I was extremely worried. I mean, they hadn't complained too much about our relationship, apart from the odd sick noise if they walked in on us making out or something, or that one time I had you nearly naked in the dressing room when Andy came looking for batteries. I don't think I've ever seen you quite so embarrassed. But apart from that, they seemed pretty okay with it. I guess after twelve years of me chasing after you, they were kinda relieved it'd all turned out okay.

But I still needed their blessings, especially Joe's. He'd spent so much time keeping me away from you, and for fucking good reason, he'd put so much effort into protecting you, he was more like your dad than your actual dad. We'd caused him a lot of stress over the years, it was only fair that I asked them before I made you mine forever.

-

"Hey, P - why the fuck are you dressed like that?" Andy exclaimed the minute he saw me standing outside his door.

"I had some important stuff to do today. Is Joe in?"

"Is nobody coming here to see _me_ anymore?" he huffed, but yanked me through the door anyway.

"I need to talk to you, too," I protested, letting him drag me through to the lounge where Joe was slumped in front of the TV with a beer and a bowl of chips.

"Pete?" he said as we walked in, "what's happened? Lonely without your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, either of you fancy a fuck?"

Joe made a face, putting the chip he was holding back in the bowl and muting the TV. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Look, it doesn't matter," I huffed, "I just need to talk to you."

"Oh, okay, uh oh, man in a suit wants to talk to us. If this is about the record, I might strangle someone."

"No, it's not about the record. Just, like, sit down or something, I dunno."

They exchanged a look, and Andy went and flopped down next to Joe. They both raised their eyebrows at me.

Suddenly feeling very exposed, I swallowed hard, and clasped my hands together in front of me like this was some kind of sales pitch. I prepared my usual intro. "Uh, so, Patrick and I have been together for a while now, and, uh, we live together and stuff, and, uh...I wanna marry him."

I smiled slightly, probably expecting some kind of applause. But they just blinked at me.

"So, are you gonna say anything?"

Joe frowned, then looked up at me. "Uh, yeah, man, that's great, I mean, yeah, well done, dude."

"Okay...so, like, you're cool with that?"

Andy cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, dude, congratulations. Uh...so when are you thinking of proposing?"

"Next week, I think. I booked this nice-"

"Next week? O - okay, cool," Joe said. He sounded worried.

"What's the matter? Is there a problem?"

"No, no," he stammered. He kept glancing at Andy. "No, of course not, that's - that's okay."

"Right. Okay," I said, frowning at the suddenly awkward atmosphere. "So, you don't have a problem with this?"

Joe laughed a little bit. "No, why would I have a problem, I don't have a problem, this is totally fine. So - so, have you already got a ring?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it right here, you wanna see?" I reached into my pocket, but they weren't looking at me.

"Okay, cool, you got a ring, that's great. Okay."

I squinted at them, trying to read what they were thinking. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

Joe put on his best smile, and stood up. "Nothing's wrong, it's so great you wanna propose, I'm proud of you, man."

"Okay, so you're both okay with me marrying Patrick?" I asked as he slowly guided me towards the door.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" Andy laughed from behind Joe.

"Well, I dunno, it's just, y'know, given what's happened in the past, you might have a problem, or be worried, or something?" Now it sounded like I was trying to find reasons _not_ to propose.

"Nah, man, we're not worried, not worried at all. Now go plan when you're gonna do it."

"Well, I've already booked a restaurant, actually, I -"

"Thanks for dropping by, Pete!" Joe nearly yelled as he shoved me out the door. The last thing I saw was Andy with a phone to his ear.

So that was weird.

-

I freaked out a little bit in the car on the way home, wondering what all that was about. But I got their approval, I guess, which was what I came for, so that was it. Everything was done, all I had to do now was hide or destroy all evidence. I was just hoping to god they weren't gonna tell you.

You seemed none the wiser, though, when I picked you up from the airport the next day. You pretty much ran at me when you saw me, it was like in those romantic movies, and you kissed me like you'd been away for months rather than days.

"So how'd it go?" I'd asked as I took one of your bags off you and linked our hands together.

"It was so good, oh my god the song is perfect, it's so much better now, and he was so great he knew all the parts and he was so nice and he said he loved the song and he loved the name we chose and it was only supposed to be two hours but we talked for ages after and it was just so amazing!" you chirped, cuddling my arm and beaming at me.

"Yeah?" I laughed, "should I feel threatened by this Elton fellow?"

"Yep, how d'you think we got the deal in the first place? I only had to give him a couple blowjobs," you shrugged, smiling angelically.

"Oh, okay. I'd have gone for your ass, myself, but each to their own."

You rolled your eyes. "You really know how to romance me, don't you," you sighed dramatically. "So what've you been up to?"

"Oh, just working," I said, not looking at you in case I subconsciously fell onto one knee.

"Can we get pizza on the way back?" you asked hopefully, and I nodded at you enthusiastically, mostly because you hadn't asked any more questions.

As we walked out of the building, I clasped your hand in my own. I wonder what it'll feel like to do that once I've put that ring on your finger.

-

It's Wednesday now. The restaurant's booked for next Thursday. That's eight sleeps 'til I ask you. I want this so bad, Patrick, I want you so bad. Sometimes, even _I'm_ surprised how much I love you. Fuck, I love you.

And I'm _so excited_.

Love and cuddles and kisses,  
Pete xxx


	57. Chapter 57

YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING _EVERYTHING_ WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS HOW COULD YOU HOW COULD YOU I WON'T FUCKING DO THIS IT HASN'T HAPPENED I FUCKING HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU IT HASN'T HAPPENED IT'S YOUR FAULT IT'S YOURS ANDIFUCKING HATEYOU ICAN'TDOTHISICAN'TICAN'T Ijustcan't

-

Okay. I'm calmer now.

Patrick.

I don't really know what to write. I don't know if this one should be to you. I don't know if you really deserve it.

I'm so fucking angry, Patrick. I'm _so fucking angry._

I don't know what to do other than write this. It seemed a better option than putting my fist through the wall.

I don't know what to feel. I'm angry, I'm so fucking angry. But I also want to just sit here and cry my eyes out. I did enough of that earlier, though. I'm empty now.

Usually you're the one who stops me feeling like this. I never thought you'd be the reason. I keep expecting to hear your car in the drive or your key in the door. But I won't, 'cause you're not coming home. I put the chain across the door, anyway.

I turned my phone off so you can't call. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want to think about you. I hate that I'm sitting in this fucking house, I hate that I have to call it _ours._ I hate you. IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou

You've ruined everything. _Everything._ I hope you know that.

-

It only happened a few hours ago. It's weird how the last few days, I've probably been the happiest I've ever been. If only I'd have known.

We had a show today, a late afternoon thing, nothing special, just more promotion stuff for the album. I was so excited at the time, so excited for everything, even putting the bins out, 'cause I just kept thinking, _this time next week, I'll be putting the bins out as an engaged man._ This very morning, I'd woken you up with coffee and kisses, I'd been the reason for your first smile, you'd clung onto my arm and refused to let go just to annoy me. I don't know how it all went so wrong.

I'd like to say that deep down, I knew something was going on. I'd like to say something was different today, that you were acting differently. But nothing was different. I didn't notice a single thing. I was that one kid in the rail safety adverts who doesn't see the train coming.

The show was great. The interview was great, too. They're not like they used to be, with all of us complaining beforehand, hardly saying anything during, then complaining more after. We _want_ to talk about this thing, we mean every word, we come across well, we seem like actually nice people, or at least I hope we do. We played a couple more songs after the interview, then waved out goodbyes to the crowd and headed backstage.

You ran off pretty quickly, like you always do, 'cause you like to shower as soon as possible because, I quote, "I sweat like a baked pig in a sauna". Which is fair enough, I guess, you do get quite stinky sometimes. But that's _normal._ You'd been hurrying off for years, you didn't even have to tell us lot anymore, you'd just bolt for the dressing room without a word. And that's exactly what you did. I didn't bat an eyelid.

I just merrily chatted away to Joe, said hi to Charlotte as she hurried past us, wondered where the coffee machine might be in this place. I guess, if I'd have been paying attention, Joe was the first sign.

"...I just think we were so right to pick that one, y'know? It just _fits,_ and, like, did you hear those kids screaming out there, I mean, they already know the words, they know them better than Patrick does, for christ's sake, it's getting as good a reaction as anything else we play, like, it even gave Sugar a run for it's money, and that's just so cool, don't you think?" I laughed, looking over at Joe. But he wasn't looking at me. He was texting furiously.

"Hey, Earth to Joe?" I cooed, elbowing him. "You were the one that told me not to text when someone's talking to me."

He didn't stop, just kinda grunted and sped up.

I skipped a little to catch up with him, trying to see what he was typing, or at least the name at the top of the page, but he jerked his phone away from me and shot me a glare. "Don't be so fucking nosy," he snapped.

"Aww, come on," I pouted, "is it a girl? Oh my god, are you sexting Marie again?"

"Yes, yes I am," he said quickly, putting his phone away. "Listen, I gotta talk to you," he muttered, and I wasn't even sure he was talking to me 'cause he pretty much spoke at the floor.

"What?" I said absently, suddenly very invested in hopping over the lines in the floor.

"Just...ugh," he sighed, then grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the corridor, as if it made us less visible. "I don't think you should propose."

 _Right. Okay._ I pulled a face. "Uh...why?"

"Because...isn't it a bit too soon? Like, a year isn't-"

"A year isn't that long, I can't really _know_ yet, blah blah blah," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "I've considered that, and I _do_ know. I'm gonna ask him, Joe."

"But, like, what if he says _no?_ Have you considered that?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "if he thinks it's too soon, then fair enough, we'll wait a couple more years. But there's no harm in asking, right?" Because at that point - although I wouldn't say it in case I jinxed it - I was pretty certain you'd say _yes._ I could see that _yes_ everywhere I looked, in the way you smiled at me, in the way you wound your fingers with mine, in the blue of the sky and the cheers of the crowds. If only I'd known I was full of shit.

"But what if he gets freaked? What if you're moving things too fast for him? This could be your breaking point," Joe said, shaking his head at me.

"Our _breaking point?"_ I scoffed, "Joe, we bought a house together in half a year. I'm ready for this, and I think Patrick is too," I insisted, wondering if Joe was experiencing some second-hand commitment anxiety.

He sighed, wearily, like this whole thirty-second conversation had left him exhausted. "Okay, then go find him, and let's talk about this," he said, gesturing to the dressing room at the end of the hall into which you'd undoubtedly disappeared.

I laughed. "What? _Talk about this?_ I'm not gonna tell him, Joe, it's a surprise!" I wasn't sure what'd got into Joe. He seemed kinda jumpy.

"Fair enough," he sighed, then poked me in the chest. "Wait, I think I might've left my phone charger in Patrick's dressing room earlier, could you get it for me?"

"Get it yourself," I frowned, making my way towards one of the other rooms.

"Nah, man, what if he's naked or something?"

I deadpanned. " _Hello, I'm Joe, and I'm_ so _heterosexual I just can't even_ think _about other men ever being naked ever,"_ I mocked, rolling my eyes.

"Hey! I didn't mean it like that, I meant, like, I don't want him to be embarrassed. He'd much rather you barged in on him in his birthday suit than me," he snapped, waving a hand at your door.

"Fine, fine," I gave in, 'cause he was probably right. And also I might be able to steal a few naked cuddles off of you. "Yours is the white one, right?" I called, and he nodded.

I strode off down the hall, dodging a few technicians and some of our crew, heading for you. My mind was completely elsewhere, floating around ranting about how wrong Joe was, how right I'd be when you said yes to me.

I reached for your door handle without a second's thought; I don't knock, I never knock. With us, there's no need, if you were naked, I didn't care, if you were using the bathroom, I didn't care, if you were in there jacking off, I would've taken over for you.

"Hey, Patrick," I called as I flung your door open, "d'you have Joe's-"

I stopped, when I finally saw you. You weren't naked. You weren't showering, either.

There was a squishy-looking sofa opposite the dressing table, and you were sitting on it. And someone was sitting on top of you.

That someone jumped when I called out, looking round at me. Her shirt was lying on the floor next to the sofa, she was in her bra, her chest pressed flush against yours and her knees either side of your thighs. Her hands were cupping your face, and her lips hovered inches from yours.

The sentence I'd been halfway through died in my throat.

You were staring at me. As soon as I tried to catch your gaze, though, you dropped it to the floor.

She slowly pushed herself off you, getting to her feet and sweeping her shirt up from the floor. I vaguely registered that she was Charlotte. She didn't look at me as she hurried past me, out the door.

I kept my hand on the doorknob to stop myself toppling over. As I trailed my gaze back to you, it sorta felt like someone had shoved their hand into my guts, and slowly started to twist. Actually, it felt like _your_ hand.

"What," I said stupidly. It wasn't really a question. My mind was busy calculating how much this was gonna hurt.

You ran your tongue across your lips. "I - I can explain."

"You better," I breathed. My face suddenly became difficult to move.

You looked down at the floor again. Your hat was at your feet, your hair lank with sweat, and your clothes too. I wonder how much of that sweat was from the show alone.

Shifting where you sat, your mouth opened and closed as you stared at me, all wide-eyes and flushed cheeks. "I, uh, I'm sorry, I...sorry," you finished weakly. You might as well have had the word _guilty_ tattooed across your forehead.

I could feel a pit forming in my chest, and it got a bit harder to breathe. "What the fuck," I said, my whole brain screaming _TRAITOR_ yet my heart wandering around wondering what the hell was going on. But I know what I saw. "Patrick...are you _cheating_?" I said quietly, incredulously, like I hadn't just seen it right in front of my face.

You bit your lip, and my chest melted into molten lead. "I, well, no, no, that was just, no, I, uh..." you fumbled. I knew what that meant. _This isn't happening. This could never happen._

"Patrick, what the _fuck?"_ I said again, gripping the doorknob tighter. Everything seemed to have gone silent; you were what all my senses were aimed at. "Are you cheating?"

"I, uh, I don't -"

"Answer the fucking question!' I yelled, feeling the shakes building.

You were silent for a second. Then you took a breath. "I'm sorry, okay, it just happened, there was nothing I could do about it, she was just suddenly _there_ and I couldn't help it, I swear!"

I banged the door shut behind me and leant against it, breathing hard. "You kissed her?"

"No, no, I didn't, I-" But I knew that look in your eyes.

"Stop lying to me!" I roared, feeling tears prick behind my eyes.

You nodded slowly.

I took a step towards you. "Did you sleep with her?" I asked quietly.

You nodded again. You might as well have put a bullet through my chest.

I felt a sob rising in my throat, and swallowed it down. "You fucked her just now?"

You shook your head. I felt my blood run ice cold as I began to realise what that meant.

"So...this has happened more than once," I said slowly, my thoughts slowly gaining speed.

You cast your eyes down to your knees.

"Oh my god," I said, pushing my fingers into my eyes and shaking my head. "Oh my god."

"Listen, Pete, I-"

"Shut up! How long has this been going on?!" I shrieked, stepping towards you and breathing hard.

"Pete, I-"

"Answer me!"

You shrunk away from me. "I don't know."

"How can you _not_ _know_?! How many times have you fucking slept with her?!" I demanded, pointing a finger at you.

You shrugged. "What, you want me to count?!" you snapped, like I was the one being unreasonable. "I don't know, Pete. A lot."

"A lot," I said faintly, more to myself than anyone else. I tasted bile in the back of my throat. The love of my life was fucking someone else. Had been for a while, it seemed.

You hadn't moved from the couch. You were just sorta looking at me, your lips parted and your hands knotted together in front of you. It was as if, somehow, you didn't quite grasp the gravity of what you'd done to me. I'm not sure if I did, yet, either.

It was like she was still in the room, like her heat still lingered on you, like I could see her hands on you and yours on her. _Charlotte._ There'd been a time when I'd trusted her every word. She'd led you to me in the first place. Now she'd taken you away. "When?" I asked, "when did you last fuck her?"

Your lips formed words, but no sound came out. I knew what you said, though, and it fucking tore me in half. _Atlanta._

When I'd been smiling for forty-eight hours straight, when I'd been telling our friends and family how much I loved you and squealing at every thought of you, you'd been sleeping with someone else.

"Fucking hell, Patrick," I breathed. Then everything was more than a breath. "You've been _fucking Charlotte_ behind my _fucking back_!" I shouted, and you rose to your feet, not looking at me. "Patrick!" I yelled, to get your attention. "Why the fuck would you do this?!"

All I got was a glance.

"What the fuck are you playing at?! Why would you do this to me?!" My voice cracked on the last word.

You shrugged a bit. "She's hot, I guess."

"What?! You'd ruin this, you'd ruin everything we have because _she's hot?"_ I cried, searching your face for, I don't know, _something._ "Am I not enough for you, am I not fucking _hot_ enough for you?!" All the times you'd told me I was beautiful were burning into ash before my eyes.

You ran your tongue across your lips and looked at me steadily. Then you shrugged again, like I'd just asked you which ice cream flavour was your favourite.

It felt like I'd been dropped through a trapdoor. The breath rushed out of me, and with it came a cracked sob. "Was she good, then? Was she better than me? Do you think of her when you're making love to me?"

Scraping a hand across your face, you bowed your head. "I'm sorry, Pete."

" _You're_ sorry? _You_? I'm the one that's fucking sorry, I'm the one you've been screwing over, the one you've been lying to this whole damn time! You and your fucking _whore!"_ I screamed, my hands curled into fists, and my vision blurred with tears.

"She's not a whore," you protested, as if that made this any better.

 _"_ Oh, no, you're right, she's not, _you're_ the fucking whore! I gave you everything, and all you've done is think with your damn _dick,_ you stupid...h - heartless... _whore!"_ I finished weakly, strangled by sobs.

I was less than a foot away from you now; your gaze was floating just past me, at a spot on the wall. When you finally looked up, there were tears in your eyes. You looked like you were gonna say something, like you _wanted_ to say something, but the second you opened your mouth, you closed it again.

"How could you do this?!" I bellowed, "I fucking _trusted_ you! I trusted you more than anyone, Patrick, and you've ruined everything!"

You made to step back, but I caught your wrist, pulling you back towards me and clamping my other hand round your upper arm, just tight enough to feel your taught muscles through your shirt. I could almost smell her on you.

I went to shout again, to shake you and to howl at you and to make you feel what you'd done to me, to make those tears in your eyes spill down your face until we were both sobbing, but I felt so dizzy that I couldn't do anything other than just stare at you. Stare at the man I loved with every ounce of my being and know that his hands are touching someone else, too, that his body isn't only mine to hold.

"Patrick," I said softly, "why'd you do it?" I tried to keep the pleading out of my voice.

You shrugged again. Your face was blank. Uncaring.

And that's when I realised. You weren't sorry about this at all.

I held onto your wrist tighter as I started to cry, anger writhing inside me and forcing a growl through my teeth. You tried to twist away from me, but I wouldn't let you. I took my hand from your shoulder and raised it to your cheek.

My heart was beating in my ears as my whole world crumbled to the floor. Your guilty eyes dragged me under the surface and suddenly my face was hot with tears, my hand shaking against your jaw as I cupped your face. For one, tiny moment, I pretended it hadn't happened, and brought your lips to mine, tasting the heat of your mouth, like you were still mine. I'm still yours.

Your hands found my hair and mine found your hips, but I had to pull away.

I looked into your blue eyes for a final few seconds. They didn't seem quite so beautiful, anymore. Then I ran.

You didn't try to stop me as I banged out of the door and back into the corridor. Joe and... _her..._ were standing just outside. They jumped back when I barged past them.

Heat blazed through me as I looked at Charlotte, the one you'd been giving your kisses and your smiles to, and I knew how easily I could mangle that pretty face of hers.

I shook my head at her, trying to think of something to say, but I couldn't. All that came out was a sob.

"Pete, dude..." Joe started to say, but I pushed past him, ignoring everything but the storm in my head. I just had to get away from everything, everyone.

I didn't bother about dignity, I didn't try to stop the tears rolling down my face as managers asked me where I was going. Finding the door and running from the building, I threw my arm across my face, ignoring the shouts of the fans and the cameras pointed my way. I was just so glad that this show was in Chicago, and we'd driven here in my car.

For a few minutes I sat there, in the drivers seat, hoping no-one had followed me. The sun was low on the horizon, the clouds stained red. It was strange how I could see the same sunset, the same world around me and yet feel so foreign. That was about when I realised my whole life had been turned upside down and shaken until all the pieces fell out of place.

-

I'm home now. Although, maybe I shouldn't call it that any more, 'cause part of the reason it's home is that you're here too. And you're not here.

It's been a long time since I've cried like that. I just lay on our bed, sobbing into a pillow, hating that it smelt like you. I wonder if you had her in here, if she lay in my place. I can't get away from my imagination, the thought of your hands on her breasts, between her legs, your arms around her instead of me. It kills me, Patrick.

I thought we were happy. I thought _you_ were happy, I thought I alone was good enough for you. You've been my best friend for twelve years, I've never met anyone I trusted more than you. I'd never been jealous of you talking to other guys when we've been together, because I just _knew_ you'd never do that to me. Do _this_ to me.

I took a shower, when the tears finally slowed, in the hope that it might calm me down. It did, a little, the pillow isn't muffling my screams anymore, my nails aren't digging into my palms. I still feel it, though, the anger. All those years we spent healing each other, they're wasted. All the hopes I had, the memories we'd make, our marriage, our _children,_ they've all been smashed to bits. My mind can't quite wrap itself around the amount I've lost in the last few hours.

I don't know what happens next. I feel like I should call someone, sob down the phone, get them to tell me you're a cheating asshole and you don't deserve me. Maybe Joe, he probably already knows what happened. Come to think of it, he probably knew long before I did, hence how weird he was being about me proposing. He knew I couldn't marry a deceitful swine. I wonder how long you've been lying to me.

The sky's dark, now. I haven't closed the curtains. I don't wanna move from this spot, ever, I just want to curl up into a ball and let the bedsheets swallow me. _Twelve years,_ Patrick. I've felt a lot of different types of pain, but _betrayal_ , that's something else.

I don't know where you are. Maybe you're breaking things off with her. Maybe she hates you now, too. Or maybe you're back at her place, celebrating. Maybe you're ripping each other's clothes off and fucking to the rhythm of my tears. I wonder if you tell her you love her. I wonder if you love me.

Because I love you. That's the most painful part; you could do all this to me, and yet if you walked through the door and kissed me, I'd kiss back without question. I remember saying, once, that I'd love you no matter what. Only now do I understand how true that is.

I've got the ring in my hand. It's so beautiful. I wish, I _wish_ I could've given it to you. I wish I could've spent the rest of my life with you. I wish you were the person I thought you were.

You've ruined _everything._

Pete.


	58. Author's Note

_To everyone reading this, I'd just like to say thank you. Thank you for all your kudos, comments, messages, every smile you might've cracked whilst reading this story, it means the world. I had no idea it would turn out like this, I somehow managed to get fifty-nine chapters out of "hey, wouldn't it be cool if Pete wrote Patrick a letter?". Thank you for sticking with this for so long ('cause holy hell is it long). The reason I've chosen to interrupt at this point is that the next chapter of this story is also the last._

_I'm slowly figuring out how AO3 works, and I'm thinking about transferring the first few chapters of another story I've been working on over here, too. It's very very different to this one, so if you hated this, maybe you'll like it? I've also been thinking of writing some one-shots, 'cause they're a great cure for writer's block, but I'm not sure, so if you guys have any prompts or requests or anything you'd like to see in a fic, I'd be very grateful because I can never think of stuff._

_Anyway, thank you again, and I really hope you enjoy the ending. xx_


	59. Chapter 59

 

Dear Patrick,

I hate you. I really, really hate you.

You broke my heart, that night.

I say _broke,_ it felt more like you'd smashed it into little pieces, then ground it into dust with your teeth.

There hadn't been many times when I'd felt quite so alone. The bed was an island, and everything that lay beyond was unknown territory, an ocean of No Patrick. I'd pretty much resigned myself to letting the waves lap over me until I became just another rock.

Maybe I was a rock, already. Opening my eyes seemed to require years of erosion, my head weathering away and settling on the sea floor, only to be rendered molten again by the pressure of the earth's core. You see, geography _is_ useful, if only for metaphorical purposes.

Anyway, I lay there for a long while, a pillow hugged close to my chest, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, like if I rolled them far enough back into my head, they might unsee the last few hours.

It felt like days or weeks or months that I stayed like that; really, though, it was only about an hour. Maybe one of the worst hours of my life. Thanks for that, by the way.

Then the phone rang. It was such a fucking horrible sound, it wriggled its way into my brain and started to jab at the backs of my eyes. Cursing myself for not unplugging the stupid landline, I peeled my eyelids open and debated whether it was worth getting up for.

I had to, though. I can't leave a phone ringing, it's like the symmetry thing, I guess. I decided, when I cracked my bones off the bed and hauled myself down the stairs, that if it was you, which it most likely was, I'd just hang up straight away. The thought of talking to you right now made me ache and wince and crumble. Ugh.

It wasn't you, though. Instead, it was Joe's offensively cheerful voice which chimed down the phone at me.

"Hey, Pete!"

Flinching away from the phone, I massaged the bridge my nose. "What," I snapped.

"Uh...how are you?" His cheerfulness diminished, but not by much.

"Fuck off."

"Whoa, okay dude. Listen, can you come to my party tonight?" he asked lightly.

I groaned aloud. I'd completely forgotten about that. He'd been going on about this fucking party all week, yet I had no idea who it was for or what it was in celebration of at all. "No."

"Aww, come on, I know you're free."

"Look, Joe, I don't actually want to talk to you right now, okay?" I hissed, manners becoming secondary.

He sighed a little, and softened his tone. "Pete, I know what happened. And I'm sorry, truly. But can you please come to the party? You're on the guest list," he reasoned.

I was beginning to feel a bit sick. "Joe," I sighed slowly, "The man I was going to _marry_ is probably currently having sex with somebody else. I'm not coming to your fucking party."

He was silent for a bit. "Uh...well, don't you think a party might take your mind off things?"

"Fuck off," I said again, feeling tears tight in my throat.

"But Pete -"

"Joe, Patrick is _gone._ I lost him, Joe, I lost him to _her,"_ I cried, trying and failing to stop my voice breaking up. "He's fucking her right now and he's holding her instead of me and I don't know what to do, Joe, I lost him, _I lost him!_ " I started to sob down the phone, leaning my elbows on the kitchen counter and running my fingers through my hair.

"Uh...right," he mumbled uncomfortably.

Usually, I would've tried to compose myself, would've been embarrassed crying like that to Joe, but at that moment it seemed like my whole world had been ruined. Which, I suppose, it had. So I just kept sobbing, hoping against hope that he might offer to come over and give me a hug.

"I...uh...right, well, listen, if you come to the party, I'll help you drink your troubles away?"

I waited for him to realise his mistake.

"Or, uh, not drink, no, no drinking, there's no alcohol here at all actually, I don't know why I said that, just, like, get over here and we can all help you, y'know, get through it."

" _All?_ Who's even there? Is _he_ there?" We both knew who _he_ was.

"No, no, he's not." _So he_ is _fucking Charlotte right now._ The thought made the tears come even faster.

"I don't wanna be around people at the moment."

"You don't have to socialise! Just turn up, that's all," he said. _God, he must be fucking desperate._

I ran a hand across my face, smudging the tear trails. "Fine. I'll come. Just forgive me if I'm not the life of the fucking party."

He laughed a little, then coughed to stop himself. "Okay, dude."

"Your place, right?"

"Nah, not this one."

I screwed my face up. "I'm not going to some shitty club."

"No, no, it's not. I'll text you the address."

I was surprised I had any breath left with the amount of sighing I'd been doing. "Fine."

"Okay, cool. Can you be here in, like, ten minutes?"

"Ugh, I don't know, probably," I sniffed, past caring about anything at this point.

"Okay. See you then!" he chirped, then hung up.

I dropped the phone onto the counter with a clatter, and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Maybe Joe was right, maybe it would help to get out of this house, away from reminders of you. Even with my eyes shut, I could see everything; your unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink from breakfast that morning, one of your hats strewn on the couch, your blessed hot chocolate machine, still going strong after six years of relentless use.

It hurt. Everything seemed to hurt, even turning my phone back on and seeing my background photo; me and you, at the first show we played after the hiatus, the crowd screaming behind us, all of us drenched in sweat with huge smiles on our faces. You hadn't called or texted or anything. I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Joe'd texted me an address which was vaguely familiar, in fact, increasingly familiar, as I began to realise I was tracing roads I'd been down a million times before. I ignored the growing pain in my chest, trying to focus on driving without my eyes filling with tears.

They very nearly spilled, though, when I saw where I'd ended up. It was a short drive, and it'd led me to a block of apartments. Your old apartment.

Slumping in my seat, I took a deep breath, cursing whichever one of Joe's friends had decided to live _here,_ of all places. _Don't cry, don't cry._

It was difficult, though, because suddenly everything seemed to carry memories; you once parked your car in that one bay, we walked down that sidewalk, you always said you didn't like that tree 'cause from your place, it looked like it had an evil face in it. Then the bigger stuff, like that fateful spot of ground where I'd crouched over your breathless body and begged for your life. We'd had so many memories here, and now they were all worthless.

But I couldn't think like that. I'd end up curled in a ball again.

 _This isn't his building, it's_ a _building. It has nothing to do with anything anymore._ As I crossed the parking lot, I aggressively didn't think about you.

I started to wonder where the hell this damned party was; I couldn't hear any voices from the grounds, so I guessed it was inside. But Joe hadn't given me an apartment number, nor had he told me the code to even get inside the block. I felt myself relax a bit as I decided that that meant I could go home with a valid excuse for not showing up. I didn't really feel fit to be outside at all.

Fully prepared to half-heartedly push at the locked door and skip home, I shuffled up the steps and focused on keeping the tears inside my eyes.

But it was open. To my dismay, the door hung ajar thanks to the wooden wedge squeezed underneath it. It kinda looked like the one we have at home. _No, shut up, stop thinking of him. It's a fucking wedge, they all look the same._

Though, as I sloped through the open door, I saw that it really _did_ look like the one we had at home; there was that dent in the corner from where you'd hurled it against the wall after tripping over it for the billionth time, the red painted end bit which I'd always hated 'cause it clashed with every colour in our bedroom.

I convinced myself I was just seeing things. Or maybe there was a doorstop thief on the loose. Something like that.

Still, even though the door was open, I had no idea what room I was supposed to be headed to. I considered texting Joe, but then on the other hand I could just leave and apologise later. I could say I looked for hours and knocked on all the doors, but very unfortunately, I couldn't find the party, and had to go home and wallow some more. Boy, did I wanna wallow.

Then I saw the writing.

Across the lobby, sellotaped clumsily to the greyish white wall, was a piece of paper, written over in thick black pen.

_Just keep going._

That was all it said. I felt my chest tighten a little bit as I realised whose handwriting that was, the round, detached letters and the sweeping letter tails.

_It's not his. You just think it is, but it's not. It's probably just some kids messing about, it's not meant for you._

Although it was kinda strange that it was there, presented for me, right in front of my face. Maybe one of Joe's friends had written it, to tell me where to go.

I knew what it was telling me. Some part of me sensed that there must be something going on, that there'd been too many weird things in a row for them all to be by chance. I couldn't think about that, though, couldn't hang onto some fucked up hope that somehow everything would fix itself.

I think it was that part of me that compelled me to start climbing the stairs. I don't know what the hell I expected; maybe this was all Joe, maybe the party was on the roof and that message was meant for everyone going. Maybe it was nothing. I sort of hoped it was nothing. I was too tired and distraught and upset to deal with anything mildly stressful right now.

Not wanting to see your old apartment, or think about you at all, I walked faster, powering up the steps until I felt the draught of mild Chicago evening air on my face.

With weary anticipation, I pushed open the door to the roof.

There was no one there.

After all that, there was nothing, just the moonlight and the deep black shadows. I'd have laughed if I still had the capacity to do so.

_Stupid. So it was just some kids._

At that point, I should've left. But I didn't. Some sadistic voice in my head thought it'd be a good idea to stay here a little longer.

I'd forgotten how utterly beautiful it was up here. It was so dark, I could hardly see my own feet, but the darkness only made the city below glow brighter.

It seemed like I was walking on glass, instead of concrete, as I wandered into the moonlight, where the place was bathed in light blue.

I leant my elbows on the wall separating me from certain death, and felt something in the pocket of my hoodie. The air rushed out of me as I reached inside and took out the little black box. I'd forgotten to put it back in the drawer.

And there was that hand again, sinking its fingers into my stomach and twisting. I felt everything all over again; my future, _our_ future, like the city below, was far out of reach.

I never thought I'd be here, on the rooftop where we'd spent so many of our nights together, where we'd kissed for the first time, where we'd said _I love you,_ broken and broken-hearted. I could still picture us there, together, you sitting beside me, cross-legged and smiling at the sky. All that was gone now.

Opening the box, gazing at the shining band of gold, I felt the tears again. In three days' time, it would've been on your finger. But now, your fingers were touching her, instead.

I thought about throwing it. Letting out all my anger and just hurling the box into the night, along with every thought of you. But I didn't. I couldn't, because I was still completely and utterly in love with you. Besides, it might've hit someone, and it'd caused way too much pain already.

So there I was, a stranger on the rooftop, quietly crying over an engagement ring. I must've looked like an absolute wreck. Although, that's pretty much what I was.

The wind was cold against the tear trails on my face, forcing me not to forget them. I couldn't stop now, anyway, the flood gates were already open, I'd been on the brink for ages and now I was breaking again. My ragged breaths seemed deafening in the silence of that place.

But it wasn't silent for much longer.

Footsteps echoed from the open doorway, hushed voices thrummed through the air. I jumped, instinctively shoving the ring back in my pocket, like it mattered that I hid it anymore.

I squinted at the doorway, trying to make out who it was, maybe Joe and his mates, maybe some new rooftop dweller who'd moved in now that you'd left.

The voices got louder, then one of them shushed the others, and there was only the sound of shifting clothes. I looked away quickly, wiping the tears from my face and considering running into the shadows.

Then someone said my name.

I whipped my head round to look at that someone, and felt ice spread through me.

"Patrick," I mumbled.

You were standing a few metres away from me, your hands clasped in front of you and your eyes trained on me. You were wearing a suit, a simple, perfectly fitted three-piece suit with a white shirt, shined shoes and a fedora placed on your head, your fringe delicately curled underneath it. The waistcoat showed off the planes of your chest, and the jacket flaunted your shoulders and the tie fastened round your collar made even your neck seem perfect. You looked _gorgeous._ If I'd been asked to define _handsome,_ I would've presented you.

And it hurt _so much._ There I was, in jeans and a hoodie, my face probably blotchy and greyish, and there were you, James Bond in a fedora, bright and shiny and new. I cursed whatever stupid awards show had prompted this. You'd no doubt just gotten laid, anyway.

It was so difficult not to just throw myself at you. On any other day, that suit would be on the floor by now, and my lips would be on you. But I kept reminding myself of what you did to me. You weren't mine to touch anymore.

"Pete," you said quietly, taking a small step towards me.

I looked away, the fist in my chest clenched tight. "Why are you here. Go away."

"Can - can I talk to you?" you asked, your voice still soft as velvet.

"No," I snapped, trying to stop my throat constricting. "You've done enough."

"Please," you said, and I could hear you nearing me. "I wanna-"

"I don't care, Patrick," I spat, glaring at you and making you step backwards. "Whatever you want. Take what you want from the house, just do it when I'm not there."

"No, no, that's not why I'm here," you said, like that was the main issue.

"Well whatever you're here for, take it and leave."

"But-"

I felt the tears in my eyes again. "You slept with somebody else, Patrick! You betrayed every little bit of trust I had in you! You ruined everything, everything we had, does that mean nothing to you?!"

"Pete, please-"

"No, don't play the victim!" I yelled, starting to cry harder. "You fucked her and...and you h-held her instead of me and y-you probably haven't even broken up with her and...and I don't even know if you ever loved me at all, and I can't b-believe you've d-done this, you...you filthy liar...you h-hurt me so much!"

Putting my elbows back on the wall, I buried my face in them, letting the sobs ripple through me. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and flinched away from it.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, my hands in fists. "This is Joe's doing, isn't it? He wants us to fucking make up, well, _it's not gonna work!"_ I yelled at the open door. "I'm through with him!"

You were staring at me with wide eyes, your hands now placed behind your back. "Pete, please, let me speak."

"No!" I cried. "I saw everything!"

"Please, just let me-"

"No."

"-two words," you finished, moving towards me again.

"What?" I croaked, glancing at the door and wondering if I could make a run for it.

"Please, just let me say _two words,"_ you pleaded, trying to catch my gaze.

I stared at you, my mind going through all the reasons you might be here, the reasons you were torturing me, turning up looking like _that._ It was difficult focussing on what you were saying since I was trying my hardest not to give in to you.

"Two words," I repeated slowly, wondering what you could possibly say with just two words. Not even _I love you._

You nodded.

I let out a bitter laugh. "You think you can fix all this with _two words_?"

You bit your lip, and nodded again.

Sighing, I rubbed a finger into the corner of my eye. "Fine. Two words, and then I'm gonna walk out that door, and I never wanna see you again."

You shifted a little, but kept looking at me steadily. I took that to mean you understood.

"Alright. Two words," you said again, and I huffed at you to get you to hurry up so I could leave.

You took a breath.

"April Fools'."

I stopped dead. "What?"

You smiled a tiny bit. "April Fools'," you said again. "You've always been bad with dates."

_Dates? What the hell?_

That's when I realised what you meant. I looked at my watch, like it might tell me something, then pulled out my phone, squinting at the screen.

_21:01 Mon, 1st April._

_April the 1st._

I stared at you, confused and annoyed. "But...you...what? You...cheated..."

You shook your head, glancing at the open doorway. Three heads poked round it, grinning at me. Joe, Andy, and Charlotte.

My eyes widened at the sight of her, my stomach squeezing with jealousy. "You...you were kissing him, you were, I saw it, I saw you with him!"

She pranced onto the roof, the other two in tow, and smirked at me. "No you didn't. You saw me sitting on him, with my hands on his face."

"But...Atlanta..."

She shook her head. "Nope. We worked out a rough plotline beforehand, Atlanta seemed the most plausible, seeing as you weren't there."

"What?!" I nearly shrieked, my gaze flitting between all their lit faces.

Joe walked over to lean beside me on the wall, clapping me on the shoulder. "There's no party, dude. That was just an excuse to get you here. And do you really think, if Patrick _was_ cheating, that I wouldn't've put him in hospital by now?"

I screwed my face up, unable to process all this. "But I saw them!"

"Nah, Pete, I barely touched him," she laughed. "Seriously, it was all for show, we didn't even kiss. All we were doing before you walked in was squabbling about whether I should take my top off or not. Mr. Prude over here was dead against it," she said, rolling her eyes at you. "Besides, I have a girlfriend."

Glancing between you and her, my mouth flapped. "So...so you're not...she's not..."

You gave me a kind smile. "I'd never do that to you, Pete."

"You're not cheating?!" I yelled, pointing a finger at you.

"No, Pete."

"You're _not cheating?!"_ I screeched again, my mind running over the last couple of hours again and again.

You laughed a little. "Nope."

"You're not cheating," I said quietly, touching a hand to my face and letting my gaze drift to the floor. Then I collapsed.

I let out a huge rush of air. It kinda felt like I might pass out, but instead, I just sorta crumpled onto the concrete and pressed my face into my hands. _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod._

I could feel you all crowding round me as the past couple of hours bounced around my head, and everything I thought I'd lost came soaring back to me. _He's not cheating. I haven't lost him._

I felt tears on my face again, but they were different, because this time, the breaths were rushing out of me in disbelieving laughs.

"You bastards, you utter bastards," I cried, exasperated, "I hate all of you."

I heard Joe's voice close to my face. "Hey, you always pulled mean pranks on us. We figured it was time to get you back."

"I did tell them not to," Andy sighed, and I could almost hear the head-shake.

"Couldn't you just have put a custard pie in my face or something? Oh my god," I whined, waves of relief washing over me. "Fucking hell."

"I can't believe you didn't suspect anything. Patrick's a better actor than I thought," Charlotte said, giving my hair a ruffle. "I thought you'd twig straight away 'cause of how completely un-couple-like we are. I mean, did we even sleep together when we were real-life going out?"

"Nah, we were too awkward."

"And you were in _looove_ with Petey here."

"True."

I felt my heart flip over. _He still loves me._ And then it dawned on me. _I can still propose. I can still marry him. We can still have kids, grow old together. Everything's gonna be okay._ That thought made me start sobbing all over again. But this time, it was with joy.

"Pete," I heard you say, gentle and close. Then I felt your fingers on my face, tilting it out of my hands and towards your shining eyes.

"I hate you," I said again, "You're a cruel man, Patrick Stump."

You just smiled, patting my shoulder and straightening up. Then you held out a hand, a beautiful, perfect hand that _hadn't_ been touching her, that was still only mine to hold, and I took it, letting you help me to my feet.

"So that _is_ our doorstop," I said suddenly, the part of my brain that'd thought so barking a _ha!_ at all the doubt. "And that _is_ your handwriting."

You nodded. "Yeah, we had to think of something quick when we realised you wouldn't know the code. And, and I wrote those specific words because-"

"Because it was what you wrote on our first date, of course I remember," I finished, beaming at you.

It was when you smiled back at me, your eyes full of love, full of everything I thought had vanished from you, that I broke down again. Grabbing you by your suited forearms and pulling you towards me, I hugged you as if I wasn't ever gonna let go, letting my head drop to your shoulder, breathing in your scent. Cologne, freshly laundered fabric, and Patrick. Fuck, you even _smelt_ handsome.

"I love you," I mumbled at your collarbone. It was funny how quick all that anger and upset had melted away. You really did fix everything with two words.

You pushed me back a little, so we were almost touching noses. "I love you too."

Then you kissed me. It was just a brush of your mouth, somewhere between a peck and a snog, letting me suck lightly on your bottom lip, my nose bumping the rim of your glasses. It was sorta like being resurrected.

"You're still mine," I said quietly as we broke apart.

"Always yours," you breathed back, touching your mouth to mine once again.

"Uh...guys," I heard Joe say awkwardly, and we both looked round to see them all staring at us.

"You're _so cute!"_ Charlotte chimed, her knuckles pressed to her cheeks.

Andy just rolled his eyes at us. "Again, sorry, Pete."

I smiled weakly, glad I was still holding onto you, or I might've just fallen over again. "It's fine. You just gave me the fright of my fucking life." It was only when I took my fingers from your arm that I realised I was shaking.

You obviously noticed, 'cause you took my hand and held it tight, bringing it carefully to your lips, letting me slide my other arm round your waist.

"Holy shit," I breathed, a little light headed, my emotions not really knowing what the hell to do with themselves. "You're all meanies."

You giggled, and I nearly passed out from happiness there and then. "I know. I'm sorry I put you through that. Good to know my acting isn't too rusty."

"Nah, you got me good," I said, more than a little impressed. As a former prankster, I do still appreciate a good prank. But it was still fucking cruel. "I literally hated you for a solid hour and a half."

"Well, that was sorta the point," you reasoned. "Because, uh, another reason we chose to do this was that, uh, so that you didn't suspect anything," you said, your voice suddenly full of meaning.

Casting a glance at the others, then the door, they each nodded, grinning at us before disappearing.

We were now alone on the rooftop. The shock had begun to fade, and I could feel the elation rising in my chest, the joy that you were here in front of me. It was kinda weird, 'cause I never really got my head around the idea of you cheating anyway, so now that it was all a setup, it was as if nothing had ever happened at all.

You pushed me away from you slightly, positioning me so that I was facing you, and suddenly my mind was back to where it was two hours ago.

"Can we go home now?" I asked, reaching my hands out to hold your hips. "Now that, like, you don't have to move out and stuff?"

"Uh, no, no, not quite yet, I-"

"Oh my god, can you imagine what would've happened to the band? We're literally _just about_ to drop the album, management would've ripped you to pieces."

"Well, I-"

"No, _Joe_ would've ripped you to pieces first. Then the fans, they'd have been next in line," I laughed, a huge smile on my face, unable to stop myself bouncing around in front of you. I felt kinda like a huge fluffy dog who's just happy at _everything._

But you didn't look so happy. You took my hands from your hips and pushed them back towards me, smoothing your jacket down carefully.

"What's the matter? Are you okay?" I asked, blinking at you with wide eyes.

"Uh, yeah. Listen, um...as I was saying, the main reason I went through with this was, uh, so that you didn't suspect anything."

"Suspect what?" I questioned, finally turning my full attention to you.

Your gaze fell on mine for a few seconds, and I could see nervousness in your eyes. You took your hat from your head and clasped it in front of you. "Suspect...uh...this."

You dropped to one knee.

_No. No way._

I watched with eyes wider than the moon as you reached into the pocket of your jacket, and pulled out a small, blue box.

"Patrick..." I breathed, my hands flying over my mouth.

You opened the box carefully, and I saw the glint of a ring inside it. _Holyshitholyshitholyshit._

"Now, uh, this part _isn't_ a prank," you said, smiling a little.

It sorta felt like someone was colouring me in with gold glitter pen.

"Pete," you said slowly, looking up at me, your gorgeous blue eyes steeped in moonlight. "More than anything in this world, I love you. I never thought I'd get this lucky, to, to fall in love with someone so kind, and, and so thoughtful, and so beautiful inside and out. Someone who's been there for me and, and looked out for me, someone who's also my best friend in the entire universe. So, uh, all April Fools' jokes aside, I love you. I know I already said that, but I guess it's doubly true," you laughed a little, a bashful blush in your cheeks.

At this point, I was ready to either pass out or explode. Instead I just kept shaking my head, my fingers pressed to my cheeks. "Patrick..." I said again, 'cause it seemed to be the only word my mouth was capable of forming.

"So, uh..." you said quietly, clearing your throat a bit, "Pete...will you marry me?"

 _Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod -_ my heart shoved my screaming brain out of the way, throwing confetti as it went, hurling a party hat into the hands of each one of my glowing cells.

The tears reached my eyes about the same time as I started to nod frantically.

"Yes. Holy fucking hell, yes."

Your smile lit up the whole of Chicago.

I was still nodding as I helped you to your feet, gazing at your fucking beautiful face and wondering how the hell I ended up here. "Yes," I said again, "yes."

Then it all got a bit too much, and I pulled away from you, prancing round the rooftop and fist-pumping at the stars. "Yes!" I shouted, so every one of them could hear it, then I ran to the side of the building and leant over the edge, yelling a "Yes!" at the ground. A dude walking through the parking lot glanced up at me, and gave me a thumbs up, which I returned with a grin.

"Oh my god," I smiled into my hands, vibrating with happiness and not sure what to do with all of it.

When I looked back at you, your cheeks were all red and round and your feathery eyebrows had risen in either joy or shock at my excitement. Probably both.

Then I flew at you, closing the distance between us and flinging my arms around you, cuddling you so tight I thought we might fuse together. And it was just so cool, because all I could think was _he's mine. He's my very own special human and now I get to keep him forever and ever._

Said special human squeezed me back, giggling in my ear, breath warm across my neck. Remembering that you had lips, and that I should be kissing them right now, I pulled back and crushed our mouths together, feeling your tongue and the roof of your mouth and sliding my hands to your cheeks, tracing your jaw with my fingers.

When the kiss was finally over, we just sorta looked at each other, resting our foreheads together and touching noses. "Fuck," I breathed, watching your eyes crinkle up and your lips curve at the edges.

"Wait, wait," you said suddenly, shoving me off you and fumbling with the box in your hand. You took out the ring, and I giggled like a hyperactive schoolgirl as you caught hold of my hand and slipped the ring on my finger. "There we go," you nodded, looking proud of your handiwork.

It was beautiful. I guess all rings are kinda beautiful, but this one was properly wow-inducing. It's silver, with this channel of little diamonds either side, with a big diamond in the middle. "Thank you," I said, staring at it, not quite believing I was actually seeing an engagement ring, from you, on my finger.

"I, uh, it kinda reminded me of your smile," you said shyly, your hands behind your back.

I held the ring up next to my face and flashed said smile, my finger grinning along with me, and you giggled. That's when I realised. _We're such idiots._

I began to laugh, rubbing my hands into my eyes and shaking my head.

"What?" you asked, looking worried.

"Nothing, it's just...oh my god," I spluttered, reaching into my pocket.

"What is it?"

"This," I grinned, taking out the box and opening it in front of you.

Your mouth dropped open, and your hands flew over the top of it, your eyes wide and flicking between me and the ring. "Pete...you were gonna..."

"Yup."

"And I made you think that..."

"Yup."

"Oh god I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry, I didn't even realise, I'd never have pranked you like that if I knew you were gonna do _this_!"

I beamed at you. "It's fine, you're just lucky I didn't throw it off the roof like I was gonna."

"Holy shit, oh my god it's beautiful, Pete, I...just..."

I nearly dropped the ring as you hurled yourself at me, and somehow this weird proposal was better than I'd ever imagined. And I'd imagined it to be pretty darn incredible.

"Hey - Patrick, hands...are trapped," I strained, trying to move my arms from where they were crushed against my body.

"Sorry," you grinned, stepping back from me.

"So, uh...Patrick, will you marry me?" I asked, feigning nerves.

"Go on then," you shrugged, giggling, your eyes so bright I swear I saw daylight in them.

You let me take your hand, and I just had to kiss it, because not so long ago I thought I'd never do that again. Also I'd kinda cursed your hands multiple times, and I felt I had to make it up to them. The gold went so perfectly with your white skin, a little halo for my little angel.

You did look like you might sprout wings and soar off into the night. We hugged again, even tighter than the last, and kissed again, too.

"There's, uh, one more thing," you said, holding up a finger and scampering over to the door. I saw you fiddling with something, then I heard a click.

And suddenly, the whole place lit up. At the foot of the wall, in the very darkest corners, where the moonlight couldn't reach, ran a string of little fairy lights, glittering and golden.

You smiled proudly and held your arms out as if to say _welcome to my magical fairy world,_ then bounced over to me and grabbed my hand, pulling me into one of the corners.

Then I saw it. You'd piled a load of pillows and blankets against the wall and across the floor, the lights arching over it, and in the middle of it all sat a plate of pizza, and two mugs of what was most definitely hot chocolate.

"It's not exactly, like, a fancy restaurant, but..." you tailed off, ending with a shrug.

You didn't need to make excuses, though, 'cause I'd already flopped onto the blankets, rubbing my face against the pillows and cuddling them. This time, I didn't mind that they smelt of you. "It's perfect," I grinned, beckoning you over.

"It might be a bit cold," you pondered as you sat next to me. "It's been sitting here for quite a long time."

"'S fine," I slurped, already halfway through the not-so-hot chocolate. It was just the right temperature for me to down it in one go. "Wait - is this _our_ hot chocolate?" It tasted exactly the same as the ones from the machine.

"Yep," you nodded, and I frowned.

"So how did you -"

"I waited 'til you left, then I nipped in with Joe and made them and wrapped them up in foil then we drove here and got the pizza on the way then gave the stuff to Andy and he said you were already up here, so I ran up the stairs and then yeah. He sneaked the stuff out here while you were curled up in a ball."

"Wow," I whistled, laughing a bit. "It was a real tight operation."

"Yeah, oh my god, as soon as you left the concert, it was like _waaah!"_ you squeaked, waving your arms around. "We only had, like, an hour to get everything set up. Oh, Joe's got your stuff from earlier, by the way."

"Oh yeah," I said, remembering how I'd fled from that building in tears. It seemed so long ago, now.

You struggled with the cheese on the pizza, getting it draped all down your chin and smearing sauce round your mouth. _Maybe less of a James Bond, now._ "I called the landlord ages ago, told him the plan," you squelched. "He let me use the roof for tonight." You swallowed, finally winning your cheese-war, then blushed at my mildly horrified expression and pulled a tissue from your pocket, dabbing at your face. "He knows me as _the guy who nearly died that one time."_

"I forgot how amazing it is up here," I smiled. "I just had a restaurant booked. Which we can still go to," I realised suddenly, clapping my hands together.

"When were you gonna - ?"

"Thursday."

"Wow. Spooky," you grinned. "Wait, so - oh my god. You told your dad you were gonna propose, didn't you? So _that's_ why he laughed in my face when I asked."

"Oh, and _that's_ why Joe and Andy acted so weird, 'cause you were already gonna-"

" _And_ my parents were really strange about the whole thing. My mum told me the reason she was sniggering at me was 'cause she was tipsy!" you shrieked, incredulous.

We both went silent for a second, looking around and finally making sense of all the weird stuff that'd happened.

"We're such idiots," you sighed, leaning your head on my shoulder.

"Yeah, but now we're _engaged_ idiots."

You laughed a little, then, twisted to look at me. "We're engaged," you said quietly.

I felt like singing. "Yeah. Yeah, we are." I kissed you then, slow and careful, feeling the curve of your bottom lip, the heat of your mouth.

We ended up making out for quite a while, in between smile-lit conversations and slices of pizza, tracing each other's faces like we'd never seen them before. I discovered a new fascination with your ears, and you tried to style my eyebrows in as many different ways as you could think of. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, kissing and touching with the whole of Chicago at our feet, and the stars sprawled above us. It was hard to imagine ever being happier than this.

I could've quite easily stayed there all night, but we'd probably wake up all dewy, and I don't think I could take much longer with you being in that drop-dead gorgeous suit without tearing it off you. And, you decided to announce that you needed the loo.

Clearing up didn't go as quickly as it could've done, 'cause we kept accidentally kissing the whole time, and you got tangled up in the fairy lights and I wouldn't help you 'cause I was videoing it. And, even when we'd got all the stuff neatly wrapped up in a blanket, it was too good a view to waste.

We leant against the wall for ages, just watching the city, watching the lights dance in each other's eyes, thinking of all the memories we'd made in this place. With your head against my shoulder, and your arm wound with my own, it was hard to believe that anything at all could ever go wrong. You really are everything I need.

-

After hauling everything into my car, we drove off into the night, waving goodbye to our special rooftop haven, and winding the windows down and the roof too, feeling the wind between our fingers.

You even turned the radio up really loud, and we danced as much as our seat-belts would allow, singing to the expanse of purple sky above us and giggling between every word. Looking at you beside me, your glittering smile outshining every star, I knew how much better off I was with you, how I'd always been better with you.

-

It was sort of amazing, bringing you back across the threshold of our house again. The last time I'd been here, I'd been in pieces, hoping you'd never set foot here ever again, mourning everything we'd had. Now I realise that everything we had has barely begun.

"I'll meet you in the bedroom," you smirked as you took your shoes off, winking at me before scampering off to the bathroom.

I watched you with the stupidest smile on my face, wondering if my joints could handle the combination of the flirtiness and the suit. I didn't wait to find out; I powered up to the bedroom and flung myself inside, smiling again at the absence of the doorstop. I hadn't noticed that before.

Sitting on the bed, I stared at my hand, the ring on my finger, the way it caught the light. It was funny, looking at it, then seeing the messed up bed sheets and the tear-soaked pillows from earlier. Today had certainly been a roller-coaster.

I did _not_ dance around the room with my ring finger in the air, _or_ cuddle my hand to my chest and grin uncontrollably, that would've been way too sappy. And we all know I'd never dream of sappiness.

"Hello again," you chirped suddenly, poking your head round the door and watching me quickly stop dancing.

"Hello," I grinned, looking you up and down. My god, you're hot.

"Celebratory engagement sex?" you asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a couple steps towards me.

"Celebratory engagement sex," I nodded, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to get a hold of you.

You wrapped your arms around my neck and started to kiss me, our tongues meeting at the same time as our hips. Sliding my hands under your jacket, I ran them up your chest and to your shoulders, nudging back the fabric and letting you slip it to the floor.

It took a lot more time for me to get you naked than it did for you to get me naked; I was just in jeans and a jumper, but with you, there were so many damn buttons. It was only when I'd pushed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you that I managed to get your waistcoat off, finally getting a glimpse of your pearly skin through the fabric of your shirt, already starting to stick to you.

I was absolutely unable to resist you, that night. Not that I'm ever able to resist you, but then it just seemed like each one of your kisses was more potent, each movement of your body underneath me sending another _I love you_ spilling from my lips.

We turned the lights out, mostly so I could see your perfect skin in the moonlight, your chest panting underneath me, your mouth hanging open as I placed kisses down your breastbone and sucked marks into your stomach. You'd always made the sweetest sounds; long, low notes in the back of your throat, high, wanton whines as I nipped at your hips and slid your trousers from your thighs, watching the muscles in your legs flex and stretch.

I never thought I'd get to take you like this again. To see you come apart underneath me, moan with every roll of my hips, thread your fingers through my hair and pull me close. Loving you like this is always like an out-of-body experience - or possibly a body is all we are, one body, intertwined and completely given to one another.

I remember thinking that maybe this was the best time ever; then you pulled me towards you, kissing me deep and slow, your neck arching off the sheets and your breath rushing out of you like water, and I knew for certain. Your legs were wrapped tight around my waist, your arms falling down beside you as your eyes fluttered shut, my lips still catching yours with every thrust.

Our highs hit us in a mess of hot breaths and blurred _I love you_ s, my mouth against your neck and your moans flooding my ears. It occurred to me, as I pulled back to look at you, breathless and boneless, with your pale skin glistening, your lips pink and open, that you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on. _My_ beautiful creature.

-

It was a while before either of us had the strength to get up and clean up. We lay tangled together, letting our heads and our heart rates slow down, breathing each other in.

Eventually, I rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom, returning with a flannel. You hardly stirred as I rubbed at you, your eyes barely open and your lips curving up slightly as you watched me.

When I came back, you were under the covers, making grabby hands at me before promptly flopping back into the pillows again.

I slid in beside you, helping you prop yourself up and cuddling you close to me.

"That was amazing," you said faintly, your eyes falling shut again.

"Yeah," I smiled, shifting so that you fitted against me easier, curling my arm around your naked hip.

"Fiancé," you breathed, as if that was my new name.

"I know," I replied, liking the sound of that. You're my _fiancé now._

You wriggled around a bit, trying to get comfy, finally finding the right angle to rest your head in the crook of my neck. Your hand searched for mine, and we linked our fingers together, letting them rest outside the covers. Our ring fingers were the only part of us that wasn't naked.

It's kinda unconventional, I guess, each of us having an engagement ring. Not even nearly matching ones, either. But then, I s'pose we've never been that conventional. And where's the fun in matching, anyway?

"It's weird," I started suddenly, resting my head on your hair, "'cause, like, I never thought I'd be here. And I mean, like, in general. From the beginning. I literally loved you for, like, four years before, and you were always just that one thing I could never have. And, and I thought that, like, even if I did have you, I'd mess it all up. Which I did, a couple times. I literally messed up worse than anyone. But, we still ended up here.

"It's just weird," I carried on, "how, like, after all that, after every single shitty thing that they threw at us, we're gonna end up _married._ Like, I'm _marrying you._ I thought I was cursed or something, that I'd never be happy or settle down or whatever. And here I am, sitting here, with the love of my life, and I'm just...happy. After all that," I pondered, thinking of everything we'd been through.

From where I was, I could see your chest, moving slowly up and down, and I could see the thin, white scars. You wouldn't even know they were there unless you were looking for them. I could see the marks along your side, shaped kinda like bite marks, where that car had slammed into you. I knew if I lifted your face to look at me, I'd see the slight gap in your eyebrow, too. Shifting our hands, I could see the delicate white line across the veins of your wrist. I always make sure to kiss that one. The others too, but that one in particular.

"So I guess what I'm getting at, is, like, it's always been you," I continued, stroking my hand down your hip and settling it at the top of your thigh, "I dunno if I believe in that fate and destiny stuff, but when I look at you, I kinda feel it. Like, it's all gonna be alright. You're like that one song I could never get out of my head, and I just know that me and you are, like, meant for each other, I guess. You're unlike anyone I've ever met. I really, really love you, I love your smile and the way you talk and your eyes and your body and your music. And I love your soul, most of all. So...yeah, Patrick, it's always been you."

I sighed a little, wondering where all that came from. It felt good to say it, though, to just ramble at the air and talk through my train of thought. I kept stroking your skin, wondering if you'd been listening, or if you'd fallen asleep.

My wondering ceased, however, when I heard a little sniff.

"Patrick?"

You lifted your head to look at me, and I saw tears in your eyes. When you blinked, they rolled down your face, tracing shimmering paths down your pink-dusted cheeks.

"Are you alright?" I frowned, untangling our hands and brushing hair out of your face.

You nodded, wiping at your eyes and smiling at me.

I laughed a little. "Did I make you cry with my little speech?"

You nodded again, giggling through your nose and cuddling me closer. "I love you," you said quietly.

I kissed the top of your head and grinned into your fluffy hair, feeling the vibrations in your chest and through your throat as you hummed with pleasure.

"I love you too," I said back. Because I'm always one for stating the obvious.

-

I kinda can't quite believe it's happened. Finally.

We managed to find the energy to put some clothes on, after dozing together for a while, so now we're both cuddled up in our pyjamas, with the blankets pulled up around us. We are well and truly snuggled.

You're fast asleep. You've still got your head on my chest, and your hand curled in the fabric of my t-shirt, which makes it kinda difficult for me to move. I'll forgive you, though, 'cause you look so damn pretty. Your hair's all fluffy, I can feel it tickling my face, and your lashes are fanned over your eyes in perfect little curves. Every so often, you'll shift and sigh, cuddling closer to me like I'm there in your dreams, too. You're in mine.

We forgot to close the curtains, and through our balcony windows, I can see the pink of the sunrise on the clouds, the same gentle colour as your lips. I did sleep for a little while, but I'm glad I woke up in time for this. It's sorta difficult to write with one arm around you, but over the years, I've got quite good at writing in awkward places.

It feels good to record this, get it down in words. I can't decide which is my favourite; written records or spinning records. Either way, whichever I write, they're always for you. I don't know if I'll write any more of these. Maybe if something goes horrifically wrong in the near future. But I don't think it will. I know I'll always have you, and if I have you, I can face anything.

And I'm so excited for us. Our wedding is gonna be _the best thing ever,_ and you can bet your ass I'm gonna become a bridezilla. There's gonna be a colour scheme, a table-specific napkin design, and I'm gonna get you a chocolate fountain. _And_ I'm gonna get you a white fedora. And then we can go on the most amazing honeymoon and have sex the whole time. But then, after, we've got our whole lives to live out. I wanna adopt a kid, who needs a home, and give it love and cuddles and teach it stuff. I wanna get old and grey with you beside me, holding my hand.

I swear to god, I've never been so happy to hear the words _April Fools'._ You always said you were gonna get me back. Damn, you can hold a grudge. And besides, if we _had_ ended up apart, who would've got custody of the tree? Me, obviously. It's got a little blossom on it now. I don't care if you think I'm weird, you're just jealous 'cause I don't feed _you_ Miracle-Gro every week.

Tomorrow, I'm gonna call up everyone I know, and tell them everything. My dad's gonna laugh so hard. And he's gonna be so proud of me. I never thought I'd have a proud dad. But for now, I'm just gonna lay here, with you in my arms, watching the sun rise. I can feel you breathing, in time with me.

I've been waiting nearly twelve years for this, for the right to say that you belong to me, and I to you. I remember writing, in the first couple letters, that no-one's ever made me feel the way I feel about you. And that's still true. If I'm a record, I've been spinning in your direction for, like, my whole life. Hell, the only reason I'm still spinning is you.

I'm gonna wrap this up now, tie the ribbon on our strange little story. I'll see you in the morning, when I wake up in your arms. Sleep tight, sweetheart.

I'll always spin for you.

All my love,

Pete.

 

_-fin-_


End file.
